THE  CHILDREN  OF  FRANCE 

AND  THE  BED  CSOS8 


The  Children  of  France 

and 

The  Red  Cross 


By 

June  Richardson  Lucas 

(Mrs.  William  Palmer  Lucas) 


With  Seventeen  Illustrations  from  Photographs 


inasmacb  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least 

of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  to  me. 

— St.  Matthew,  25:40 


New  York 

Frederick  A,  Stokes  Company 

Publishers 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
Fbedkrick  a.  Stokes  Compant 


AU  Rights  Rsstrved 


To 
"W.  P.  L. 


3827S0 


Digitized  by  ttie  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/childrenoffranceOOIucarich 


INTRODUCTION 

On  August  12,  1917,  the  National  Red 
Cross  organized  its  work  for  the  women  and 
children  of  France  under  the  Children's  Bu- 
reau of  the  Department  of  Civil  Affairs  in 
France,  with  Dr.  Wm.  Palmer  Lucas,  Pro- 
fessor of  Children's  Diseases  at  the  University 
of  California^  as  Chief  of  the  Bureau.  Dr. 
Lucas'  work  in  1916  for  Mr.  Hoover  in  Bel- 
gium,, where  he  made  a  careful  health  survey 
of  the  Belgian  children  for  the  Commission  for 
Relief  in  Belgiu/m,  brought  a  wide  and  valuable 
experience  to  the  French  problems, 

Mrs.  Lucas  accompanied  her  husband  to 
France,  and  for  ten  months  worked  with  him 
in  the  organization  and  establishment  of  the 
American  Red  Cross  work  for  the  children. 

Many  formal  reports  of  the  work  have  been 
issued  by  the  National  Red  Cross  Headquar- 
ters. Many  splendid  accownts  of  the  scope 
and  magnitude  of  the  work  of  the  American 
Red  Cross  in  France  have  been  published  by 

vii 


viii  Introduction 

the  Press.  This  hook,  made  up  of  the  daily 
journal  letters  written  hy  Mrs.  Lucas  during 
those  ten  months^  has  an  wnique  value  for  the 
American  people.  It  is  an  intimate,  tender 
picture  of  the  way  in  which  our  great  National 
Relief  Orgamzation  meets,  with  a  warm  per- 
sonal tou^h,  the  most  poignant  tragedy  in 
France  today,  the  devastated  Uvea  of  brave 
women  and  little  children, 

Henry  P.  Davison, 
Chairmcmy  Red  Ceoss  War  Council 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 
The  conquerors! Frontispiece 


FAaNO 

PAaB 


A  group  of  old  women  at  Evian  who  have  lost 

everything 6 

A   happy   reunion 6 

Supplying  Jean  with  warm  clothing      .         .         .14) 

"Learning  to  forget"  at  Chateau  des  Halles         .  34 

A  group  of  children  at  Evian,  as  yet  unknown  and 

unclaimed 84 

A  boy  at  Evian  mutilated  as  a  result  of  a  loaded 

pencil  given  him  by  a  German  soldier  .         .  48 

Chateau  des  Halles       ....••  60 

Christmas  dinner — with  plenty  to  eat   ...  80 

Jules,  the  "saint"  of  Chateau  des  Halles     .         .  86 

Bath  hour  at  Chateau  des  Halles.     One  of  our 

frightened   cases 92 

All  posed  for  her  picture 110 

Madame  Gillet-Motte,  who  has  cared  for  SOOD  chil- 
dren      ........  140 

Dr.   Murphy   and   Dr.   Manning   feeding  imder- 

nourished  children 148 

Children  of  the  school  canteens  of  Paris,  supplied 

with  extra  food  by  the  A.  R.  C.    .         .         .152 

The  great  responsibility 174 

Waiting  for  some  one  to  come  for  her  .         ,         .188 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  FRANCE 

AND  THE  VED  CS088 


The  Children  of  France 

and  the  Red  Cross 

Evian,  France, 
September  28, 1917 

I  PROMISED  to  write  about  the  rapatries  at 
Evian;  well  I'll  make  a  beginning. 

Rapatries  are  easy  to  define  but  most  diffi- 
cult to  describe;  indeed  that  generalization  fits 
a  good  many  situations  in  France  to-day,  but  I 
want  to  tell  you  about  the  rapatries,  and  I'll 
begin  with  a  definition. 

r  They  are  the  people;  old  men,  old  women,  a 
few  young  women,  children  all  ages,  babies — 
a  few,  that  the  Germans  are  sending  back  into 
France  through  Switzerland.  These  people 
have  been  in  either  Belgium  or  Germany  since 
the  Germans  took  their  villages.  Now,  as  win- 
ter comes  on,  these  many  mouths  to  feed  must 
be  gotten  rid  of,  and  so  the  Germans  are  send- 
ing back  all  those  they  are  unable  in  any  way 

1 


2  The  Children  of  France 

to  iise  in  factory,  trench,  or  agriculture.    That 
is  the  definition  of  rapatries. 

They  are  coming  into  France  at  Evian-les- 
Bains  on  Lake  Geneva,  two  trains  a  day, 
bringing  five  hundred  at  a  time.  And  they  are 
leaving  Evian  daily,  in  special  convoys,  to  the 
assigned  destinations  in  the  interior  of  France. 

The  little  station  at  Evian  gives  you  a  pic- 
ture, no,  a  realization,  of  what  war  can  mean 
to  the  civil  population  that  even  a  devastated 
village  fails  to  give.  The  arrival  of  the  train 
is  most  dramatic.  It  comes  slowly  into  view 
and  the  crowd  of  rapatries  on  the  platforms 
begins  to  cheer,  and  those  in  the  train  crowd 
the  windows  and  shout  and  wave  their  hands 
calling,  "Vive  la  France  I  Vive  la  France!" 
The  doors  of  the  train  are  eagerly  opened  by 
nurses,  our  ambulance  men,  government  aides 
and  members  of  the  local  committees  who  are 
helping,  and  the  train  empties  quickly.  The 
old  women  with  their  precious  bundles  are  so 
cheerful  it  breaks  your  heart.  They  try  to 
smile  and  look  ready  for  the  new  demands. 
The  old  men  seem  more  depressed.  There  is 
a  finality  about  it  all  for  them  that  you  never 
forget.    The  children  are  dirty  and  tired,  but 


And  the  Red  Cross  3 

excited  and  eager  to  see  what  is  going  to  hap- 
pen next. 

The  sick  and  the  feeble  are  taken  to  the  am- 
bulances in  wheel  chairs  and  on  stretchers,  and 
our  American  Red  Cross  men  have  a  way  with 
them  that  helps  so  much  with  these  weary  peo- 
ple. They  put  them  into  the  ambulances,  and 
a  big  bus  takes  the  smallest  kiddies,  and  off 
they  go  down  the  little  winding  street  to  the 
Casino.    The  rest  of  the  crowd  walks  down. 

The  sunset  train  load  get  a  wonderful  wel- 
come from  their  beloved  France — the  great 
splashes  of  pink  in  the  soft  sky,  the  distant 
hills  deep  and  green,  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Lake  below  reflecting  all  the  glory  of  the  sun- 
set, and  they  feel  it.  A  sweet  faced  Sister  said 
to  me  as  we  came  down  in  the  ambulance:  "Oh, 
it  is  so  beautiful — ^my  France  must  be  saved  1" 

At  the  Casino  the  weary  people  find  the  big 
cheerful  room  full  of  light,  and  the  color  of 
the  flags  everywhere  helps  to  make  them  real- 
ize that  they  are  home  at  last.  The  hot  meal 
is  ready  for  them  and  they  take  their  places 
quickly,  and  very  soon  the  warmth  and  kind- 
ness of  it  all  reaches  their  tired  hearts  and  they 
begin  to  smile  and  talk  to  each  other  or  to  you. 


The  Children  of  France 


After  a  little,  the  band,  made  up  of  rapatries 
who  are  detailed  in  Evian  to  help,  begins  to 
play  some  gay  stirring  French  air.  The  chil- 
dren laugh  at  first,  but  the  older  ones  cannot 
bear  it  and  you  see  many  tears.  Then  the 
Prefet  of  the  District  speaks  to  them  in  a 
friendly  stirring  fashion,  welcoming  them  to 
their  country  once  more,  and  with  all  the  ten- 
derness of  the  French  language,  speaks  of  their 
sufferings,  of  the  sufferings  of  France,  of  the 
bravery  of  their  soldiers,  of  the  final  victory  of 
France.  "Vive  la  France,"  he  shouts  in  clos- 
ing, and  those  homeless  people  respond  with  a 
cheer  that  blinds  and  chokes  you.  You  won- 
der how  they  can,  and  yet  you  see  that  they 
must.  It  helps  them  to  go  on.  Then  comes 
the  playing  of  the  Marseillaise.  They  can- 
not sing  at  first — it  sounds  like  a  great  sob 
from  a  heart-broken  people,  but  the  ringing 
"Marchons,  Marchons  .  .  ."  becomes  a  cry  of 
victory. 

The  balcony  above  is  a  most  interesting 
place.  It  is  the  children's  place.  While  the 
older  people  pass  into  the  big  room  adjoining 
to  go  through  the  long  careful  process  of  reg- 
istering, the  little  ones  are  taken  up  to  the 


And  the  Red  Cross 


balcony,  checked,  and  left  there  to  be  washed 
and  brushed  and  amused.  There  are  many 
tears  at  first;  they  fear  to  be  separated  from 
their  mothers,  but  the  nurses  are  so  friendly 
and  so  kind,  and  the  boxes  of  glistering  toys 
on  a  low  table  quite  convenient  for  small  fin- 
gers, are  so  tempting,  that  the  battle  is  soon 
won.  There  are  rows  of  little  mattresses  on 
the  steps  of  the  balcony  that  have  clean  pads 
and  fresh  little  pillows  where  sleepy  or  tired 
children  can  rest.  But  it  is  too  exciting  for 
most  of  them. 

That  balcony  is  rather  a  critical  spot  in  the 
whole  care,  for  here  is  the  grave  danger  of 
contagion  most  evident,  the  skin  lesions,  the 
dirty  heads,  the  vermin  in  their  clothes — and 
it  is  here  that  the  American  Red  Cross  will 
begin  to  help  by  cooperating  with  the  dispen- 
sary just  under  the  balcony,  in  more  care  in 
selection  of  the  children  and  cleaner  methods 
in  handling  them,  than  have  been  possible  to 
obtain  in  the  hurry  of  this  daily  rush  of  caring 
for  one  thousand  people. 

The  registration  is  so  carefully  done  and  it 
is  so  important,  you  must  know  about  it.  The 
big  circular  desk  at  which  some  two  hundred 


6  The  Children  of  France 

government  clerks  sit,  is  arranged  alphabeti- 
cally and  the  people  pass  along  in  line ;  there  is 
no  hurry.  Each  rapatrie  is  talked  with  care- 
fully and  kindly,  and  many  stories  are  listened 
to.  This  registration  bureau  is  also  in  receipt 
of  many  inquiries  from  relatives  and  friends 
who  are  making  every  effort  to  get  in  touch 
with  their  own  as  they  come  through ;  and  each 
rapatrie's  name  is  instantly  referred  to  that 
section  of  the  registration,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes you  may  see  the  telegram  or  letter  deliv- 
ered to  a  sweet-faced  woman  or  a  trembling 
old  man,  that  tells  them  they  are  claimed  by 
one  who  knows  them  and  cares.  You  find 
yourself  longing  so  for  many  more  letters  and 
telegrams  than  there  are.  You  cannot  bear 
the  disappointed  look,  the  sort  of  dumb  resig- 
nation that  is  in  many  faces.  After  their  reg- 
istration they  pass  on  to  another  room,  and 
there  they  are  assigned  to  their  lodgings  for  the 
night. 

The  dispensary  sends  the  sick  men  and 
women  and  children  to  the  different  hospitals 
and  here  is  where  help  is  needed.  So  the 
American  Red  Cross  has  opened  an  acute  hos- 
pital of  two  hundred  beds  for  children. 


1       -^lT^  '" 

-■5^ 

pjt^^KLv^OBjr,  -/  iiL^B 

HH 

t^L^^^m 

|^^H^^^Irn9|^ 

B 

bI 

^^^^^^^^^ 

B 

VJ 

A    GROUP    OF    OLD    WOMEN    AT    EVIAN    WHO    HAVE    LOST    EVERYTHING    AND 
ARE   UNCLAIMED.      THE    FRENCH   GOVERNMENT  CARES   FOR   THEM 


A    HAPPY    REUNION.        SICK    MOTHER     IN     BED    HAD    FOUND    HER    BOY    AT 

EVIAN     AFTER     WEEKS     OF     SEPARATION.  HER     OLD     FATHER     AND 

MOTHER    FOUND  HER   THERE   TWO  DAYS   LATER,    AFTER    A    SILENCE   OF 

MANY  MONTHS 


And  the  Red  Cross 


The  Casino  slowly  empties;  the  volunteer 
workers  fall  to  and  clean  the  great  room  ready 
for  the  morning;  the  tables  are  laid,  and  it  is 
long  after  midnight  when  the  last  worker  goes. 

The  little  village  quiets  down.  It  was  clear 
moonlight  last  night,  as  I  walked  back  to  our 
little  Hotel  des  Quatre  Saisons  and  stood  for 
awhile  on  the  terrace  looking  across  at  the  Con- 
vent Clarisses.  The  f  a9ade  of  the  chapel  stands 
high  above  the  wall  and  there  in  the  moonlight 
stood  the  figure  of  the  Christ  with  a  little 
child  in  His  arms.  The  pure  white  of  the  stone 
figure,  with  a  great  cross  above,  seemed  start- 
lingly  full  of  meaning.  Back  in  the  quiet 
quadrangle  the  old  and  sick  rapatries,  full  of 
their  weariness  and  suffering,  slept  perhaps, 
and  dreamed  of  the  loved  village  left  so  long 
ago.  There  was  a  great  feeling  of  shelter  and 
safety  in  the  quiet  sky  above  the  dark  roofs 
and  the  white  figure  seemed  to  be  guarding  the 
old  convent.  On  the  gateway  was  written: 
"The  Patronage  of  Jeanne  d'Arc."  Perhaps 
she  saved  France  once? 

As  I  watched,  suddenly  from  the  shadowy 
courtyard  the  figure  of  a  Sister  stepped  quickly 
out  into  the  light  of  the  street  and  went  hur- 


8  The  Children  of  France 

riedly  away  into  the  night.  I  waited.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  Sister  came  back  with  a  priest. 
He  limped  badly ;  they  could  not  walk  so  fast ; 
the  moonlight  shone  on  his  cross  above  his  heart 
and  the  white  flaps  of  the  Sister's  hood.  They 
disappeared  under  the  low  archway.  In  a  few 
moments  I  saw  a  light  in  the  room  above  the 
gate.  The  old  priest  came  close  to  the  window 
and  knelt  in  the  full  light  of  the  lamp,  his  hands 
before  him  with  his  rosary  held  high.  I  knew 
he  was  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  a  bed;  I  could 
see  the  white  cover.  The  little  Mother  Supe- 
rior I  had  seen  earlier  stood  near  with  her  hand 
over  her  eyes.  I  could  not  see  the  dying  ra- 
patrie,  but  I  knew  that  all  the  comfort  this 
world  can  give  was  being  offered.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  the  room  was  darkened  again; 
then  the  old  priest  came  slowly  out  and  went 
down  the  winding  street  in  the  moonlight  and 
his  shadow  looked  like  that  of  a  giant  against 
the  convent  wall.  The  figure  above  seemed 
clearer. 

This  morning  about  eleven  I  saw  the  end  of 
the  little  scene  of  last  night.  The  bells  began 
to  toll  and  from  the  sunny  courtyard  under 
the  archway  bearing  that  magic  name,  came 


And  the  Bed  Cross  9 

the  sad  little  procession — two  little  altar  boys, 
one  carrying  the  cross,  and  the  old  priest  in 
his  white  robes.  The  chanting  was  just  peace- 
ful as  the  little  procession  of  friends  and  fam- 
ily of  the  dead  rapatrie  walked  slowly  behind 
the  hearse.  The  Mother  Superior  stood  long 
at  the  gateway  looking  after  them.  It  was  all 
very  real  and  very  sad,  these  old  people  reach- 
ing their  beloved  country  in  time  to  die.  One 
of  the  workers  told  me  that  30  per  cent,  of  the 
old  have  died  in  the  first  month  after  their  re- 
turn. 

The  children  are  so  pathetic  too,  many  of 
them  without  their  mothers,  just  sent  along  in 
a  crowd  in  care  of  the  older  women,  and  some 
of  them  are  too  little  to  know  their  names  and 
the  old  people  have  forgotten;  they  come  from 
a  certain  village  and  that  is  all  that  is  known. 
And  many,  many  of  these  children  are  sick  and 
diseased,  and  the  arrival  in  Evian  of  about 
five  hundred  children  daily  presents  a  most 
tremendous  problem. 

Our  Children's  Bureau  is  to  take  charge  of 
the  medical  end  of  it;  and  with  an  acute  hos- 
pital of  two  hundred  beds  and  several  con- 


10  The  Children  of  France 

valescent  hospitals  near,  we  are  going  to  help 
those  plucky  French  people  with  a  task  they 
have  already  undertaken  with  vigor  and  fore- 
sight. 


And  the  Red  Cross  11 


Evian,  France, 
September  29,  1917 

The  morning  train  came  in  at  a  most  chilly 
hour  this  morning — at  seven  o'clock.  A  heavy- 
mist  hung  over  the  hills  and  the  station  was 
like  a  tomb,  but  the  rapatries  cheered  just  the 
same.  They  were  so  glad  to  get  out  of  the 
train  after  three  days  of  travel.  There  was  a 
boys'  school  from  Laos  about  a  hundred  little 
chaps  of  all  sizes,  and  tired  and  dirty  as  they 
were,  they  sang  their  school  song  lustily  when 
they  gathered  on  the  platform.  That  boys' 
school  cheered  me  up;  the  future  of  France 
looked  strong  and  hearty.  Those  blue  caps 
above  their  shining  young  eyes  gave  me  a 
sense  of  solidarity,  of  future  security.  There 
was  a  convent  school  of  girls  also,  in  charge  of 
five  Sisters, — about  sixty  young  girls.     They 


12  The  Children  of  France 

did  not  seem  so  happy,  but  frightened  by  the 
experience.  They  clung  to  the  Sisters,  who 
kept  their  little  brood  together  as  they  went 
off  to  the  Casino. 

I  started  down  the  street  with  a  boy  of 
fourteen  who  had  been  digging  trenches  for 
the  Germans  for  the  last  five  months.  He 
looked  delicate,  probably  tubercular,  or  he 
would  not  have  been  allowed  to  go,  I  think. 
He  was  much  interested,  as  they  all  are,  at 
finding  Americans  at  work.  I  suppose  they 
have  been  told  by  their  captors  that  we  are  not 
going  to  do  anything  about  this  war.  Well, 
the  first  thing  that  greets  the  rapatrie's  eye  out- 
side the  little  station  is  a  row  of  ambulances 
marked  "American  Red  Cross." 

This  morning  was  full  of  interesting  inci- 
dents. One  old  man  who  had  started  to  walk 
down  from  the  station  with  the  young  lad  and 
me,  gave  out  before  we  had  gone  very  far,  so  I 
persuaded  him  to  wait  for  an  ambulance  to 
come  along  and  pick  us  up.  He  was  a  very 
bright  little  old  man  with  a  sensitive  face.  He 
was  all  bundled  up  in  an  old  French  army  over- 
coat that  had  been  given  him  at  the  Swiss 
border.     I  could  see  that  he  was  very  proud  of 


And  the  Red  Cross  13 

it.  He  told  me  he  had  three  sons  in  the  French 
army,  and  that  if  he  could  only  find  them  he 
would  be  cared  for.  His  story  was  most  pa- 
thetic. In  the  flight  from  Lille  he  had  be- 
come separated  from  his  wife,  and  in  his  ef- 
forts to  find  her  the  Germans  had  taken  him 
prisoner.  They  held  him  for  two  days  and 
then  he  escaped  to  the  woods.  After  hiding 
there  for  two  days,  hunger  forced  him  out  on 
the  road  and  the  first  humans  he  met  were  three 
Boches.  To  his  amazement,  as  he  put  it,  "the 
miracle  happened,"  and  they  gave  him  bread 
and  let  him  go. 

I  wish  I  could  reproduce  for  you  this  eager 
old  man.  He  hated  to  admit  that  he  was  tired, 
and  climbed  into  the  ambulance  most  reluc- 
tantly, but  he  was  really  very  weary,  and  so 
anxious  to  find  out  whether  he  would  find  a 
message  from  his  sons.  I  found  myself  almost 
as  eager  as  he  was,  and  when  we  did  find  a  tele- 
gram from  his  son  in  Paris  waiting  for  him  at 
the  Casino,  I  assure  you  we  both  wept  for  joy. 
I  have  an  old  army  button  I  am  treasuring. 
He  asked  me  to  cut  it  from  his  coat  and  keep 
it  to  remember  his  "two  miracles"  by. 

There  were  so  many  sick  children  this  morn- 


14  The  Children  of  France 

ing — ^whooping  cough  and  bad  throats  seemed 
to  predominate.  Really  it  makes  you  shud- 
der, the  possibilities  of  epidemics  and  the  op- 
portunity for  the  spread  of  disease  through  the 
interior  of  France. 

Diphtheria  has  given  us  all  one  dreadful 
fright  but  that  has  been  checked  now.  It  is 
impossible  to  give  you  any  idea  of  the  size  of 
this  problem  here;  from  the  point  of  view  of 
public  health,  I  doubt  if  there  has  ever  been 
a  situation  of  larger  scope.  This  little  town 
on  the  very  edge  of  France  is  receiving  a  thou- 
sand people  daily,  and  these  people  depleted 
and  worn  out  from  privation  and  hardship. 
About  five  hundred  of  the  daily  thousand  are 
children,  who  show  the  effects  of  three  years 
of  dirt,  limited  bathing  facilities  or  none,  lice, 
skin  lesions  of  all  kinds,  beside  the  low  food  ra- 
tions on  which  most  of  them  have  been  living. 
All  these  conditions  lower  their  resistance,  as 
the  doctors  say,  and  they  are  under  par.  The 
above  statement  does  not  mention  the  tuber- 
culosis to  be  found  in  many  of  them,  but  it 
does  show  the  absolute  necessity  of  helping 
in  this  medical  situation  here;  and  the  Amer- 
ican Red  Cross  is  so  glad  to  be  here  where 


H 
Z   > 


And  the  Red  Cross  15 

its  Children's  Bureau  finds  one  of  the  great- 
est opportunities  to  serve  France. 

But  you  don't  want  any  theories  about  the 
situation,  you  want  to  hear  about  the  people; 
you  are  quite  able  to  form  your  own  conclu- 
sions from  the  facts  I  give  you. 

This  evening's  convoy  brought  a  bit  of  evi- 
dence against  the  enemy — a  child  of  fifteen 
with  a  year  old  Boche  baby  in  her  arms.  The 
little  mother  looked  so  sick,  you  felt  that  was 
why  she  had  not  been  held;  indeed,  the  baby 
was  ill  too,  and  the  grandmother  was  in  despair 
about  it  all.  Another  woman  was  so  depressed 
because  of  her  two  little  boys,  both  paralyzed 
and  covered  with  impetigo,  which  is  a  polite 
medical  term  for  the  results  of  unutterable 
hygienic  conditions.  Our  ambulance  boys 
thought  the  kiddies  had  smallpox  until  a  nurse 
explained.  They  were  only  eight  and  ten  years 
old  and  in  such  a  frightful  condition.  The 
mother  insisted  that  the  paralysis  was  from  the 
terror.  I  don't  know;  I  should  think  almost 
any  strange  physical  phenomenon  might  come 
out  of  what  they  have  all  been  through. 

One  woman  had  her  husband  and  a  strong 
young  son  of  about  twenty-two  with  her  and 


16  The  Children  of  France 

neither  of  the  men  could  speak.  "Since  the 
bombardment,"  she  said;  I  suppose  this  is  the 
civilian  shell  shock. 

And  so  it  goes.  After  you  have  met  the  two 
trains  daily  and  watched  the  weary  crowd  pass 
by  with  their  bundles  and  talked  with  many  of 
them,  you  can  think  of  nothing  else.  You  be- 
gin to  feel  beaten  and  sore  yourself;  it  is  too 
much  human  tragedy  to  look  upon  in  a  few 
minutes.  The  relentlessness  of  it  all,  in  those 
words  of  Maurya,  in  Synge's  "Riders  to  the 
Sea,"  as  she  looked  upon  her  last  son  drowned 
in  the  great  storm,  came  to  me  so  often  here. 
You  remember,  she  says: "There  isn't  anything 
more  the  sea  can  do  to  me  now."  And  as  you 
meet  these  homeless  people  you  feel  that  there 
is  nothing  more  that  war  can  do  to  them.  It 
has  taken  all. 

This  morning  at  the  Casino  I  asked  our 
photographer  if  he  thought  he  could  get  a  pic- 
ture of  them  as  they  sat  at  the  tables.  We 
were  standing  on  the  balcony  looking  down  on 
them.  Hemmet  thought  a  moment  as  his  keen 
photographer's  eye  took  in  the  scene:  "It  can't 
be  done.    They  are  all  black,  black  and  white; 


And  the  Red  Cross  17 

black  clothes,  white  faces — you  couldn't  get 
them." 

I  cannot  forget  that  remark,  it  is  so  true, 
black  clothes,  white  faces,  hundreds  of  them — 
you  can't  get  them. 

Sometime  I  want  to  tell  you  what  these 
wonderful  French  people  are  doing  here  with 
those  poor  country  folk  of  theirs.  If  the  Lord 
does  help  those  who  help  themselves,  the 
French  are  going  to  have  a  tremendous  amount 
of  assistance. 


18  The  Children  of  France 


Evian,  France, 
September  30,  1917 

Can  you  imagine  what  a  Government  de- 
lousing  station  would  be  like?  No,  you  can't. 
Neither  could  any  one  else  before  this  hideous 
war  began.  It  used  to  be  an  occasional  prob- 
lem in  an  emergency  situation.  Now  it  has 
become  a  business,  this  keeping  vermin  off  hu- 
man beings.  I  suppose  it  will  soon  become  a 
profession.  I  met  a  woman  up  back  of  the 
lines  who  had  a  dug-out  not  far  off  and  she 
earned  her  living  cleaning  vermin  from  sol- 
diers and  their  clothes.  I  used  to  be  sensitive 
about  mentioning  fleas  in  San  Francisco. 
Now,  .  .  .  but  all  values  are  relative,  n'est-ce- 
pas? 

Well,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the  Annex 
Gordon  here  at  Evian  which  has  been  estab- 


And  the  Red  Cross  19 

lished  for  the  particular  purpose  of  getting  the 
lice  and  vermin  off  of  these  poor  rapatries  and 
curing  the  skin  lesions  which  result  from  such 
conditions. 

I  think  the  best  way  to  describe  Annex  Gor- 
don is  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  woman  and  her 
eleven  children  I  saw  in  one  of  the  wards 
there.  When  this  poor  rapatrie  and  her  little 
brood  were  examined  at  the  Casino  dispensary, 
it  was  discovered  that  all  twelve  heads  were  in- 
habited and  diseased  and  that  three  of  them 
suffered  with  itch.  They  were  sent  to  the  An- 
nex Gordon.  The  first  room  to  receive  them 
is  divided  into  little  compartments;  each  com- 
partment is  numbered.  The  family  were  put 
into  twelve  compartments,  a  bag  with  the  same 
number  as  the  compartment  hangs  in  each  and 
into  these  bags  went  their  clothes,  and  the 
mother  and  the  children  put  on  the  toweling 
bathrobes  and  slippers  provided  in  each  com- 
partment. The  bags  of  clothing  were  taken 
immediately  to  the  fumigating  room.  The 
little  family  went  downstairs  to  the  baths  and 
douches.  Here  each  one  received,  in  separate 
rooms,  the  treatment  prescribed ;  the  three  who 
had  the  itch  went  into  sulphur  baths.    All  the 


20  The  Children  of  France 

heads  were  cleaned  and  disinfected  and  in  forty 
minutes  our  group  was  clean  and  had  gone  to 
another  series  of  compartments  on  another  floor 
to  put  on  clean  clothes.  If  their  clothes  are 
very  bad,  they  are  given  a  new  outfit.  This 
often  happens.  They  remain  here  from  two  to 
ten  days,  depending  upon  the  seriousness  of 
their  trouble.  During  the  past  four  weeks,  six 
hundred  and  twenty  have  stayed  from  two  to 
ten  days  or  longer;  three  hundred  and  fifty 
have  passed  through  with  baths,  and  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty  with  head  douches. 

The  dormitories  are  clean  and  attractive. 
Different  towns  and  cities  such  as  Nancy, 
Paris,  Toulouse,  St.  Etienne,  Cannes,  Rouen, 
have  furnished  these  "salles"  and  great  pride  is 
taken  in  them.  It  is  a  perfectly  run  establish- 
ment; the  kitchens  are  spotless  and  the  food 
appetizing. 

I  know  that  by  this  time  you  are  thinking 
that  this  process  must  be  a  dreadful  one  and 
that  only  the  lowest  classes  among  the  rapatries 
are  ever  sent  to  Annex  Gordon.  Well,  that  is 
almost  the  greatest  tragedy  here  in  Evian ;  the 
fact  that  these  rapatries  number  many,  many 
refined,  decent  people  who  have  never  been  in 


And  the  Red  Cross  21 

any  but  comfortable  and  pleasant  surround- 
ings. I  saw  in  Annex  Gordon,  three  middle- 
aged  people,  a  sister  and  two  brothers.  The 
men  were  educated  gentlemen,  professors  both 
of  them,  and  yet  they  were  coming  in  with 
one  hundred  and  forty-five  others  to  be  cleaned 
up.  I  saw  one  lovely  little  child  there — a  little 
girl  of  ten  with  such  beautiful  auburn  hair; 
great  tears  rolled  down  her  face  and  her  moth- 
er's face  also,  as  the  nurse  gently  cut  away 
the  great  masses  of  soft  hair  to  get  at  the  poor 
little  head. 

No,  I  have  failed  utterly  in  giving  you  any 
idea  of  rapatries  if  you  have  a  sort  of  a  "scum- 
of-the-earth"  picture  in  your  mind.  These 
poor  people  are  sick,  dirty  and  weary  after 
three  years  of  suffering  and  lack  of  all  home 
comforts,  but  they  are  many  of  them  just  the 
type  of  people  you  would  find  in  small  New 
England  towns. 

Another  big  work  the  Government  has  un- 
dertaken is  the  care  of  about  sixteen  hundred 
old  people  at  the  College,  a  fine  old  building 
on  the  Lake,  which  has  been  well  adapted  to 
the  uses  of  the  old  people.  Here  the  old  home- 
less folks,  who  have  not  been  claimed,  are  taken 


22 The  Children  of  France 

and  cared  for,  gently  and  sympathetically. 
Many  of  them  cannot  read  or  write  and  the 
women  of  the  Evian  local  Committee  spend 
hours  talking  with  them,  helping  them  to  re- 
member friends  they  may  have  in  the  interior 
of  France,  and  writing  their  letters  for  them. 
In  this  way  some  three  hundred  of  the  sixteen 
hundred  have  been  put  into  touch  with  friends. 

I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel  the  tenderness 
and  kindness  with  which  these  French  volun- 
teer workers  help  these  people.  I  saw  such  a 
touching  little  scene  at  the  College.  An  old 
woman,  ninety-two  they  said,  was  standing  in 
the  vestiare  room  having  a  new  white  cap 
tried  on.  She  looked  up  at  the  kindly  workers 
with  such  a  sweet  old  smile,  as  the  friendly 
hands  tied  on  her  cap  for  her.  Then  the  old 
woman  tried  to  put  on  over  the  cap  the  old 
handkerchief  which  she  had  worn  before.  The 
worker  remonstrated  smilingly,  but  tied  it  on 
and  the  old  woman  went  off  happy.  And  it 
isn*t  one  old  woman  that  is  treated  thus,  but 
hundreds,  and  you  love  and  admire  these  splen- 
did French  women  who  give  their  service  so 
devotedly. 

The  workers  at  the  Annex  Gordon  too,  are 


And  the  Red  Cross  23 

splendid  in  their  work.  I  saw  such  kindness 
there,  so  much  real  understanding  of  what  it 
meant  to  be  in  such  a  pitiable  condition. 

Every  night  as  I  listen  to  the  welcome  given 
these  people  at  the  Casino,  I  am  more  and  more 
deeply  impressed  with  the  way  in  which  the 
French  offer  their  help  to  these  homeless  coun- 
trymen. It  is  done  with  a  delicacy  of  touch, 
a  simple  directness,  a  warmth,  all  as  lovely  as 
the  shady  roads  through  their  beautiful  vil- 
lages. You  always  hear  that  the  French  have 
such  a  sense  of  approach  to  their  buildings. 
Well,  that  sense  of  theirs  is  not  limited  to  the 
buildings ! 

The  way  in  which  they  have  asked  the  Amer- 
ican Red  Cross  to  help  in  Evian  has  been  per- 
fectly choking  in  its  warm  gratitude  and  desire 
to  have  us  do  just  what  we  think  best.  Our 
men  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  assuring  these 
tired  people  here  that  the  Americans  want  to 
help  them  in  the  way  the  French  want  to  be 
helped.  What  we  are  doing  seems  such  a  drop 
in  their  great  bucket  of  war  and  its  sufferings. 
And  these  people  look  at  us  with  glistening 
eyes  and  thank  us  so  constantly. 


24  The  Children  of  France 

A  rapatrie  asked  me  tonight  if  I  were 
French.  I  said:  "No,  American."  "Ah! 
c'est  la  meme  chose — ^la  meme  chose,  Madame  1" 
Think  of  that  I 


dnd  the  Red  Cross  25 


Lyofij  France  J 
September  9, 1917 

I  WANT  to  tell  you  about  this  morning  while 
my  heart  is  still  thumping  about  it.  We  were 
in  Lyon  looking  over  the  ground  for  a  con- 
valescent home  for  the  little  rapatries  from 
Evian,  and  the  French  Committee  which  had 
us  in  charge  brought  us  an  invitation  last  night 
from  the  French  Colonel,  to  be  on  the  platform 
early  this  morning  to  meet  the  train  bringing 
the  first  big  group — four  hundred  and  thirteen 
— of  English  exchange  prisoners  from  German 
prisons.  Well,  we  were  there !  The  platforms 
were  packed  with  people,  the  officials  of  the 
City  of  Lyon,  the  Mayor,  the  Counselors,  the 
Reception  Conmiittee  in  brilliant  uniforms,  the 
French  Colonel  and  his  staff,  and  the  British 
officer.  Major  Wilkinson,  who  had  come  over 


26  The  Children  of  France 

from  Berne  to  meet  the  train.  The  French 
Red  Cross  infirmieres  with  their  baskets  of 
tri-color  flowers  made  a  fascinating  picture  in 
their  white  and  blue  uniforms. 

It  was  all  very  tense  as  we  waited.  The 
French  officials  saw  that  every  provision  for 
the  comfortable  handling  of  the  men  was  made, 
after  much  talk  and  many  changes.  You  felt 
they  were  marking  time;  there  must  be  some 
outlet.  Major  Wilkinson  laughed  and  talked 
with  us  but  his  eyes  moved  constantly  in  the  di- 
rection from  which  the  train  was  to  come.  He 
seemed  to  get  taller  and  taller  as  we  waited. 
He  is  a  magnificent  looking  man,  towering 
above  every  one.  His  keen  British  face  looked 
as  unshakable  as  Gibraltar.  Nothing  cheers 
one  so  much  about  this  whole  war  as  that  par- 
ticular type  of  British  officer.  I  found  myself 
being  ridiculously  glad  that  Major  Wilkinson 
looked  just  as  he  did,  that  the  men  would  see 
him  first  as  the  train  came  in. 

A  blast  from  the  engine  whistle  out  in  the 
train-yard  brought  a  tightening  of  the  crowd 
and  the  band  began  to  play.  Why  must  there 
be  bands  at  such  a  moment?  I  don't  know. 
Perhaps,  you  couldn't  get  through  such  mo- 


And  the  Red  Cross 27 

ments  without  one,  but  as  the  train  rolled  slow- 
ly past  us,  "God  save  the  King"  became  "Tip- 
per ary,"  the  crowd  on  the  platforms  cheered 
and  waved,  the  nurses  threw  the  flowers  into 
the  crowded  windows ;  we  sang,  we  cheered,  we 
wept,  we  shook  the  eager  outstretched  hands 
of  those  poor,  gaunt  men,  and  all  the  while  the 
band  played  "Tipperary."  The  train  stopped 
and  those  starved  men  climbed  down  from  the 
cars,  formed  in  little  pathetic  squads  with  an 
officer  at  the  head,  and  went  by  us — the  lame, 
halt,  blind  (three  of  them) — with  a  gallantry 
indescribable,  and  saluted  the  officers  waiting 
to  receive  them.  I  shall  never  forget  Major 
Wilkinson.  A  British  officer  moved  is  one  of 
the  most  inspiring  sights;  his  jaw  tightened, 
his  eyes  glistened,  but  he  stood  quietly  at  atten- 
tion, never  missing  one  of  the  sad  evidences 
those  n:ien  bore,  of  their  weary  broken  bodies, 
for  those  were  broken  men,  men  who  would 
never  be  what  they  had  been  before.  We  knew 
that,  because  that  was  why  they  were  being 
exchanged,  men  who  could  no  longer  be  used 
against  the  captors.  And  some  of  those  plucky 
Tommies  had  their  pet  dogs  on  leashes,  and 
how  we  cheered  those  pets!    They  broke  the 


28  The  Children  of  France 

tension  a  bit.  One  car  of  the  train  was  filled 
with  the  men  too  sick  to  walk  and  they  were 
carried  out  last  to  the  ambulances. 

The  great  concourse  of  people  moved  down 
the  station  steps  to  the  big  room  below  and 
there  the  men  and  officers  were  welcomed  by 
the  officials ;  the  French,  warm,  glowing,  eager 
to  express  their  hearty  greetings  of  those  poor 
fellows;  the  English  Major,  brief,  with  a  grim- 
ness  and  determination  in  his  voice  that  was 
about  as  moving  as  "Tipperary."  And  the 
men, — ^they  were  too  happy;  it  broke  your 
heart — free  at  last  and  on  the  way  to  Blighty ! 

In  front  of  the  station  were  the  lines  of  auto- 
mobiles to  carry  them  off  to  the  barracks.  A 
company  of  French  cavalry  on  black  horses, 
with  their  shining  helmets,  and  swords  flashing 
in  the  sunlight,  acted  as  escort,  and  the  band 
played  "Tipperary"  over  and  over.  The  cheers 
grew  stronger  and  stronger,  the  music  got  into 
your  feet.  You  were  marching  to  victory; 
yoUy  just  a  plain  woman  in  petticoats,  touched 
for  a  high,  glorious  moment  the  vision  that  puts 
humans  through  blood  and  fire  for  the  sake  of 
an  ideal. 

We  followed  them  to  the  barracks  to  have 


And  the  Bed  Cross  29 

luncheon  with  the  thirty-five  officers.  I  sat 
next  to  a  young  Captain  of  the  Royal  Lincoln- 
shires,  an  Oxford  man.  He  looked  so  thin  and 
drawn,  his  eyes,  deep  set  and  full  of  nerves. 
He  told  me  that  was  his  trouble,  nerves.  He 
came  to  France  in  August,  1914,  was  captured 
in  a  hospital  after  the  Mons  fight.  His  trou- 
ble had  been  dysentery.  In  a  weakened  condi- 
tion he  was  marched  to  Germany.  There  he 
was  crowded  into  a  freight  car  with  thirty-five 
other  men,  so  tightly  wedged  in  they  could 
neither  sit  down  nor  lie  down.  There  they 
stood  for  ninety-eight  hours  with  one  cup  of 
coffee  given  during  that  time.  Many  of  the 
men  never  survived  those  ninety-eight  hours. 
Captain  P.  lived,  as  he  said,  in  Hell,  for 
the  first  nine  months.  Seldom  was  food 
offered  him  that  was  not  spit  on.  It  was 
eat  or  starve.  After  the  first  year  things 
grew  better.  I  hated  to  have  him  talk 
about  it,  he  looked  so  tired  and  so  worn,  but 
I  was  held  by  the  story;  to  hear  at  first  hand 
such  experiences,  after  three  years  of  rumors 
and  denials,  of  exaggerations  or  belittling  of 
hardships. 

Captain  P.  spoke  feelingly  of  one  thing — ^**I 


30  The  Children  of  France 

am  so  tired  of  being  yelled  at;  everything  that 
has  been  said  to  me  for  three  years  has  been 
yelled  at  me  from  a  distance  of  about  three 
inches  from  my  face;  I  am  jumpy  about  it." 
Then  too,  he  talked  interestingly  about  his 
short  share  in  the  war.  He  was  holding  a  house 
with  thirty  others  near  M.  It  was  getting  too 
hot  for  them,  as  two  machine  guns  were  busy. 
They  decided  to  make  a  dash  for  the  shelter  of 
the  village  street;  one  by  one  they  climbed  the 
six-foot  bank  and  made  a  dash  across  an  open 
road  and  up  a  side  street.  "We  didn't  expect 
to  make  it,  any  of  us,  and  we  jolly  well  pelted, 
I  can  tell  you." 

It  is  difficult  to  give  it  to  you — ^thal  room 
full  of  officers,  each  with  his  own  terrible  ex- 
perience of  war  shut  up  within  himself.  One 
young  Lieutenant  of  the  West  Kent  regiment, 
that  famous  regiment  that  has  never  lost  a 
trench,  looked  so  startlingly  frail,  and  yet  there 
was  a  glow  about  him  of  returning  vigor,  per- 
haps. He  had  come  but  of  his  prison  in  a  dy- 
ing condition,  but  an  operation  in  Switzerland 
had  saved  him. 

Colonel  Neish  of  the  Gordon  Highlanders 
was  the  senior  ranking  officer  among  the  pris- 


And  the  Red  Cross  31 

oners  and  his  response  to  the  speech  of  welcome 
was  so  Scotch.  There  was  really  nothing  that 
could  be  said  so  he  did  not  say  it.  You  just  felt 
the  tenseness  all  through  the  room:  "We  are 
glad  to  be  here,  but  you  will  not  blame  us  for 
longing  to  get  home." 

My  officer  said:  "I  can't  believe  anything 
really  until  I  am  actually  in  England;  I  have 
been  lied  to  so  many  times !"  I  asked  him  what 
he  wanted  to  do  most  when  he  reached  home. 
His  answer  came  quickly :  "I  want  to  go  down 
to  the  sea,  where  I  used  to  go  as  a  little  lad.  I 
have  been  dreaming  about  it  for  months !  How 
lazy  I  am  going  to  be !  No  yelling,  just  the  old 
comfortable  boom  of  the  sea!" 

As  I  read  this  over  I  have  been  wondering 
whether  it  would  stir  in  you  certain  feelings 
that  came  to  me,  at  the  station  and  at  the  lunch- 
eon. I  seemed  to  see  American  men — our  men 
— ^young  lads  I  have  watched  playing  tennis  in 
the  sunshine,  older  men  pouring  out  of  a  base- 
ball game,  coming  home  broken  men.  I  could 
not  get  the  thought  out  of  my  mind.  We  must 
make  it  short,  my  dear,  by  holding  nothing 
back  at  the  beginning,  our  men  and  our  Red 


32  The  Children  of  France 

Cross,  our  two  strong  hands  here  in  this  war- 
stricken  France! 

"It's  a  long,  long  way  to  Tipperary" — 
Well,  it's  longer  still  to  the  homeland.  We 
must  make  it  short.  There  must  be  few  such 
men  as  I  saw  this  morning  1 


And  the  Red  Cross  33 


Eviarij  France^ 
October  14,  1917 

I  THOUGHT  I  had  told  you  everything.  I 
haven't — in  some  ways  I  have  not  begun.  To- 
day at  eleven  was  almost  the  most  dramatic, 
the  most  thrilling  moment  of  all  at  Evian.  Six 
hundred  and  eighty  Belgian  children  arrived 
on  the  morning  train.  It  was  indescribable ;  all 
these  little  children,  thin,  sickly  looking,  alone ; 
all  of  them  between  the  ages  of  four  and  twelve. 
It  is  impossible  to  picture  it  for  you.  Those 
poor  children  calling  "Vive  la  France,"  then, 
"Vive  la  Belgique"  for  the  first  time  in  three 
years.  Those  of  us  who  stood  on  the  platform 
could  only  wave  to  them, — cheering  was  impos- 
sible. 

The  boys  were  livelier  than  the  girls — the 
little  girls  of  ten  and  twelve,  in  charge  of  four 


34  The  Children  of  France 

or  five  brothers  and  sisters,  cried  bitterly. 
Two-thirds  of  these  children  have  been  taken 
from  their  parents  because  their  fathers  would 
not  work  for  the  Germans  and  the  mothers 
were  willing  to  let  the  children  go  rather  than 
see  them  starve.  I  have  never  seen  anything 
more  poignant  than  those  little  groups  of  chil- 
dren clinging  to  the  oldest  sister  and  brother 
as  they  marched  down  the  little  street  to  the 
Casino.  It  was  the  saddest,  the  crudest  sight 
— not  one  grown-up,  just  children,  little  chil- 
dren, marching  bravely  along,  singing,  and  cry- 
ing. 

As  they  passed  along,  the  rapatries  on  the 
sidewalk  called  to  them:  "Don't  cry,  you  are 
going  to  have  meat!"  And  the  boys  shouted: 
"Meat,  we  are  going  to  have  meat!"  as  they 
marched.  You  couldn't  believe  it.  You  were 
looking  at  starving  children,  Belgian  children. 
Many  things  flashed  into  my  mind.  "Seven 
cents  a  day  feeds  a  Belgian  baby."  Do  you 
remember  our  Belgian  Commission  cards  at 
home?  Everything  we  did  or  tried  to  do  last 
year  for  the  "C.R.B."  came  back  to  me.  Here 
were  some  of  the  children  we  did/n't  feed,  per- 
haps— the  long,  long  line.    It  seemed  to  stretch 


>     »o     -^     .      V    . 


'learning     to     forget        at     chateau     DES     HALLIiS 


A    GROUP     OF     CHILDREN     AT    THE     AMERICAN     RED     CR03S     HOSPITAL     AT 
EVIAN,    as    yet    unknown    and    UNCLAIMED 


And  the  Red  Cross  85 

out  for  miles  before  you.  You  seemed  to  see 
that  little  wavering  line  of  starving  children 
passing  on  and  on  over  miles  of  devastated 
country.  There  are  no  words  for  it,  my  dear. 
Only  Raemaker  could  picture  it. 

As  I  say,  I  thought  of  everything  I  had 
heard  about  Belgium  and  her  sufferings  and 
I  realized  that  nothing  I  had  ever  heard  had 
given  me  any  conception  of  starving  Belgian 
children.  Some  of  our  C.R.B.  men  were  there ; 
they  are  Red  Cross  men  now,  working  like 
beavers,  and  yet  they  felt  that  sight  to-day  as 
few  could.  They  knew  what  these  little  ones 
had  come  from.  You  felt  glad  that  Mr. 
Hoover  was  not  there  to  see  that  special  bit 
of  tragedy  he  worked  so  hard  to  prevent.  I 
understand  now  that  look  in  his  face  when  he 
talked  about  Belgium  last  year,  a  deepening 
of  those  splendid  lines  about  his  mouth,  that 
made  you  feel  that  he  would  never  give  up  the 
fight  to  save  the  Belgian  children. 

The  Casino  was  glowing  with  good  cheer; 
the  meat  was  there,  plenty  of  it,  with  potatoes 
and  hot  chocolate  and  hot  roasted  chestnuts. 
How  they  ate!  Yes,  they  just  stuffed  that 
good  dinner!     They   were    hungry  and  they 


36  The  Children  of  France 

were  children.  I  shall  never  forget  their  hands, 
little  bird-like  claws,  so  thin,  and  when  they 
sang  they  waved  those  pathetic  little  hands. 
I  shall  never  forget.  And  such  singing!  The 
spontaneity  of  it!  As  we  stood  watching  the 
eager  faces,  suddenly  they  would  sing,  with 
all  their  might ;  those  shrill  little  voices  shouted 
out  a  song  against  the  Germans.  Those  songs 
must  have  been  learned  in  secret,  and  yet  every 
tiny  child  knew  every  word.  When  Mile. 
G.  sang  their  beloved  Brabanc^onne  for 
them,  they  were  absorbedly  silent  until  the 
chorus  and  then  such  a  volume  of  song  as  came 
from  those  Belgian  children!  "Le  Roi,  la  loi, 
la  Liberte!"  No  one  could  bear  it ;  the  French, 
the  Americans,  the  Belgian  officials  who  had 
come  to  receive  them,  all  stood  with  tears  on 
their  faces.  You  seemed  to  be  touching  with 
bare  hands  the  agony  of  those  thousands  of  Bel- 
gian women  who  have  watched  their  little  ones 
suffer  for  three  years.  And  they  were  so  lit- 
tle, few  over  twelve  years  old,  and  such  a  small 
twelve.  An  underfed  child;  it  is  no  longer  a 
phrase  to  us,  it's  a  reality.  Famine  children  of 
India,  I  remember  as  a  child,  seemed  too  dis- 
tant to  be  real.     Those  Belgian  children  who 


And  the  Red  Cross  37 

for  three  years  have  not  had  enough  to  eat,  have 
a  look  about  them  that  makes  you  ache,  it's 
so  wrong;  and  then  you  stiffen.  You  feel  that 
you  will  fight  for  a  hundred  years  if  necessary, 
to  prove  such  methods  wrong! 

Well,  I  must  go  on  with  my  story.  After 
the  eating  and  the  singing,  these  children  were 
questioned  and  registered,  and  I  imagine  those 
records  are  perhaps  the  most  interesting  little 
documents  we  have  had  from  Belgium  for  a 
long  time.  Children  have  a  way  of  telling 
things  clearly,  as  they  saw  them,  with  a  direct- 
ness that  never  confuses  the  issue  in  your  mind 
or  theirs.  They  were  so  glad  to  tell  their  story 
and  they  crowded  into  the  great  Bureau  Room, 
regardless  of  barriers  and  proper  alphabetic 
order.  They  were  children  who  understood 
that  they  were  with  friends. 

Then  came  the  medical  inspection  and  I  was 
glad  that  an  American  Red  Cross  doctor  was 
there  to  help.  I  talked  with  him  afterwards; 
he  was  not  ashamed  of  his  tears.  He  told  me 
the  little  claw-like  hands  were  only  an  indica- 
tion of  the  whole  under-nourished  condition  of 
those  children.  But  he  said:  "We  have  them 
in  time,  a  few  weeks  of  proper  feeding  and  no 


38  The  Children  of  France 

epidemic  and  they  will  pull  up."  The  con- 
tagious cases,  like  mumps,  skin  infections,  etc., 
were  isolated  and  the  children  were  arranged 
for  the  night.  Each  little  child  left  the  Casino 
with  two  flags,  Belgian  and  French,  clasped 
tightly  in  one  hand  and  a  bright  new  franc  in 
the  other.  They  were  full  of  food  and  we  were 
full  of  hope.  Those  two  sensations  seem  bound 
up  together  these  days.  They  go  off  to-mor- 
row to  places  near  Paris  which  have  been  pro- 
vided for  them.  The  kind  Belgian  doctor  goes 
along  with  them.  He  was  just  mobbed  by  the 
children  at  the  station  when  he  came.  They 
wanted  to  be  kissed,  and  that  man  kissed  on 
both  pale  little  cheeks  every  child  he  could 
reach! 

My  dear,  I  want  to  be  in  Brussels  when  the 
King  comes  home! 


And  the  Red  Cross 


Evian,  France, 
December  12,  1917 

We  came  down  here  from  Paris  last  night. 
Cold!  Well,  I  have  never  sat  in  a  refrigerator 
so  I  don't  really  know  whether  my  comparison 
is  true — ^but  if  I  ever  had  sat  in  a  refrigerator 
I  am  sure  I  should  have  felt  as  we  did  this 
morning  in  that  cold  compartment.  Outside, 
gray  mist  and  snow  over  the  hills  and  fields; 
inside,  human  steam  and  cold  that  went 
through  all  your  layers  of  clothing  and  came 
out  the  "other  side"  unwarmed. 

Miss  P.  of  the  English  Friends  was  in  our 
compartment;  she  looked  like  a  little  squirrel 
in  her  uniform  of  gray.  She  has  a  wonderful 
face,  great  dark  eyes,  full  of  everything,  light, 
gladness,  sympathy,  fire, — oh,  just  all  you 
demand  of  eyes.    She  was  on  her  way  to  the 


40  The  Children  of  France 

Friends'  Hospital  for  tubercular  people  at 
Sermaize.  She  told  us  about  it  in  her  quick, 
energetic  way.  She  needs  more  nurses  and  we 
hope  to  lend  her  several  from  the  hospital 
here. 

That  is  one  of  the  wonderful  things  over 
here,  there  is  so  much  opportunity  for  team 
work ;  and  the  Red  Cross  seems  to  me  to  stand 
for  just  that,  not  swallowing  up  or  absorbing 
work  already  existing  and  doing  well,  but  just 
helping  every  organization  to  do  more  and  bet- 
ter work. 

Well,  I  began  to  tell  you  about  the  cold,  and 
then  Miss  P.  popped  into  the  letter  because  she 
made  us  forget  the  cold,  and  that's  rather 
tjrpical  of  experiences  over  here ;  you  start  with 
a  discomfort  and  you  end  with  some  bit  of  ser- 
vice that  makes  you  forget  everything  but  the 
results. 

That  has  surely  been  the  story  at  Evian.  It 
was  not  an  easy  task  to  convert  a  rather  un- 
wieldy summer  hotel  into  a  hospital  quickly, 
when  to  get  supplies  and  transportation  for 
equipment  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  tasks ; 
and  yet  to-day  we  found  a  smoothly  running 
hospital  with  seventy-five  cases  of  contagious 


And  the  Red  Cross  41 

diseases  being  cared  for  after  just  a  month  of 
work.  The  nurses  looked  tired  but  happy; 
they  have  worked  so  devotedly.  The  whole 
staff  has  done  all  sorts  and  kinds  of  work  to 
hurry  the  hospital  along  to  this  point  because 
the  need  was  so  great.  One  thing  helped  out, 
the  convoys  of  rapatries  stopped  for  two  weeks ; 
that  gave  us  just  time  enough  to  get  ready. 

You  can  be  proud  of  your  American  Chil- 
dren's Hospital.  The  Hotel  Chatelet  makes  a 
most  modern  and  comfortable  hospital  and  as 
I  stood  on  the  steps  and  watched  our  ambu- 
lance men  carrying  the  little  patients  into  the 
big  entrance  hall,  wrapped  in  blankets  on  the 
stretchers,  and  saw  the  efficient  service  given 
by  nurses  and  aides,  I  was  sort  of  choked  by 
it  all — just  a  glad  choke.  I  am  so  glad  this 
comfortable  haven  is  here  for  those  sick,  home- 
less children.  Our  nurses  adore  so  just  clean- 
ing them  up  and  making  them  comfortable, 
and  these  ambulance  men  give  a  service  that 
can  never  be  described.  Many  a  child  comes 
without  tears  because  he  has  seen  the  twinkle 
in  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  treats  him  like  a 
little  brother. 

On  the  first  floor  of  the  hospital  are  the  of- 


42  The  Children  of  France 

fices  and  nurses'  room,  the  dining-room  for  the 
staff,  and  then  a  big  room  for  the  mothers — 
the  visiting-room.  It  is  warm  and  beautiful 
with  a  fine  view  of  the  Lake  and  Lausanne  in 
the  distance.  Here  every  day  the  mothers 
come  for  an  hour  and  are  taken  upstairs,  a 
few  at  a  time,  to  see  their  children.  Now  I 
know  you  are  wondering  how  we  can  do  that  in 
a  contagious  hospital.  Well,  it  isn't  easy  and 
it  isn't  scientific  and  it  has  a  certain  small  risk, 
but  it's  human.  These  poor  families  cling  to 
each  other  in  a  way  difficult  to  describe.  The 
women,  especially  the  older  ones,  are  emotion- 
ally unstrung  and  hysterical.  They  have  paid 
such  a  heavy  price  for  freedom  and  these  chil- 
dren are  all  they  have  left,  and  they  cling  to 
them  with  an  intensity  that  breaks  your  heart. 
To  quarantine  these  children  rigidly  is  just  out 
of  the  question.  It  would  be  the  easiest  way 
to  get  the  best  results  medically,  but  our  whole 
staff  is  cooperating  in  making  the  visiting  as 
safe  as  possible.  The  mother  puts  on  a  sterile 
robe  and  washes  her  hands  and  face  thoroughly 
before  leaving  the  ward,  and  the  hospital  pro- 
vides little  toys  for  the  women  to  take  to  the 
children  so  as  to  prevent  if  possible  the  giving 


And  the  Red  Cross  43 

of  food  to  those  who  are  sick.  One  thing  we 
do  insist  upon,  and  that  is  that  the  children  can- 
not be  taken  away  until  our  Medecin-chef  and 
the  French  Medecin-chef  approve.  But  these 
poor  people  in  one  short  month  have  learned 
that  the  American  Hospital  is  their  friend,  and 
although  new  ones  come  each  day,  good  news 
travels  fast.  The  grounds  around  the  hospital 
are  large  and  there  are  five  villas,  one  for  the 
nurses,  one  for  staff,  two  for  service,  and  one 
Dr. has  decided  to  fill  with  some  well  chil- 
dren and  mothers  who  are  waiting  for  little 
brother,  sister  or  mother  to  get  well  at  Evian. 
We  are  here  as  friends,  you  know,  and  we  must 
be  friends. 

As  I  came  away  from  the  hospital  this  after- 
noon I  walked  down  the  grounds  to  the  lower 
gate.  It  was  just  sunset  and  the  winter  trees 
against  the  haze  of  pink  brought  the  homeland 
back  to  me  with  new  and  precious  vividness. 
At  such  moments  I  feel  as  if  some  day  I  must 
smooth  with  my  hand  every  loved  spot  at  home. 
It  is  wonderful  to  feel  that  your  beloved  coun- 
try is  worth  suffering  for. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  looking  back  at  the 
hospital,  when  suddenly  one  of  our  aides  ran 


44  The  Children  of  France 

down  the  path  ahead  of  me  and  opened  the  big 
gate  and  I  saw  from  the  now  empty  villa  a 
little  procession  coming.  The  small  brown 
coffin  was  carried  by  our  men,  the  aide  and  one 
of  our  staff  men  following;  that  was  all,  under 
the  winter  trees.  The  little  aide  is  an  Irish 
girl  with  blue  black  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes; 
as  she  passed  me  the  tears  were  rolling  down 
her  cheeks. 

Oh,  I  know  there  have  been  thousands  of 
children  sacrificed  and  there  will  be  thousands 
more.  This  was  a  boy  of  twelve,  dead  from 
tuberculosis  through  lack  of  food  and  care, 
motherless  and  fatherless  by  German  shells. 

I  find  I  can't  bear  these  things  unless  I  twist 
some  comfort  out  of  them  somehow,  and  as  I 
came  back  through  the  dusk  I  felt  that  the  little 
brown  coffin  had  a  big  significance — American 
evidence  of  that  hideous  doctrine  "German 
military  necessity."  And  then  came  the  feel- 
ing that  there  are  still  things  German  military 
forces  cannot  touch.  The  soul  of  the  little  lad 
had  gone  winging  on  its  way  somewhere  be- 
yond the  haze  of  the  winter  sunset.  I  kept 
thinking  of  Maeterlinck's  "Blue  Bird"  in  the 
scene  called  "Memory"  where  Thoughts  of 


And  the  Red  Cross  45 

those  on  Earth  make  happy  the  ones  in  the 
Land  of  Memory.  Do  you  remember  how 
beautifully  that  was  done, — the  little  Nor- 
mandy cottage,  the  sweet  old  couple  and  the 
little  children,  just  the  kind  of  a  spot  this  little 
boy  may  have  come  from  ?  Somehow  I  like  to 
think  he  has  gone  to  just  such  a  scene,  and  when 
they  crowd  to  welcome  him  and  hear  of  Earth, 
he'll  say:  "Yes,  the  Americans  have  come. 
They  cared  for  me.  I  died  in  an  American 
Hospital."  Can't  you  just  hear  the  cheer  those 
spirits  of  the  men  of  Mons,  the  Marne,  and  of 
Ypres,  would  give? 

No,  the  little  brown  coffin  under  the  winter 
trees  is  not  all  I 

Robert,  who  has  just  come  to  lay  my  fire,  is 
a  little  rapatrie  of  twelve  too,  but  he  is  well 
and  strong  with  chubby  face  and  such  nice 
"little  boy"  eyes.  He  lays  the  fire  most  care- 
fully and  sits  close  watching  the  flame  catch 
each  piece  of  wood  as  he  lays  it  on.  I  imagine 
it  is  the  only  time  of  day  that  he  gets  warm. 
He  told  me  he  came  from  a  little  village  "that 
is  all  gone  now  but  was  such  a  nice  village 
once." 

Don't  scold  me,  but  I  just  gave  him  a  franc; 


46  The  Children  of  France 

he  almost  fell  into  the  fire  from  astonishment, 
but  I  could  not  give  Robert  just  ten  centimes 
to-night.  I  know  the  professional  philan- 
thropist would  scorn  me  but  I  really  can't  in- 
vestigate him;  he  hasn't  any  sources  of  infor- 
mation, they  are  all  gone — blown  up ;  he  hasn't 
any  past,  present  or  future;  he  is  just  Robert, 
a  rapatrie,  and  I  am  far  from  home  too, — so 
there  1  Gracious,  he  is  still  bringing  up  wood  I 
I'll  be  warm  to-night,  and  his  face  shines  with 
smiles. 

There  are  people  in  the  world,  I  know,  who 
would  say  that  the  other  little  lad  would  prob- 
ably have  died  anyway,  and  that  Robert  is  no 
worse  off  than  thousands  of  others.  All  right, 
I  can't  argue  with  them  and  I  won't,  as  long 
as  they  give  money  to  the  Red  Cross. 

It  is  a  clear  cold  night,  and  up  on  the  hills 
seventy-five  sick  children  are  comfortable  and 
safe. 

I  think  I'll  give  Robert  another  franc  in 
the  morning! 


And  the  Red  Cross  47 


Evian,  France, 
December  18,  1917 

This  has  been  a  long  day.  The  morning 
convoy  comes  in  at  a  quarter  before  six;  it  is 
quite  dark  and  very  cold  but  I  find  that  noth- 
ing quenches  the  spirits  of  these  homeless  peo- 
ple. They  go  marching  down  this  little  street, 
old  and  young,  keeping  step  with  the  buglers 
who  lead  the  procession  now.  This  morning 
it  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  faces  as  they 
passed,  but  one  could  tell  by  the  noise  of  their 
wooden  shoes  that  many  little  children  were 
marching  along,  the  short  quick  step  together 
with  the  longer  step  of  the  older  ones,  and  some 
of  them  were  singing  as  they  went. 

But  this  letter  is  to  be  a  "bath  story."  Yes, 
Evian-les-Bains  now  lives  up  to  her  former 
reputation.     Every  one  here  has  felt  that  if 


48  The  Children  of  France 

only  the  rapatries  could  have  baths  and  clean 
clothes  immediately  upon  arrival,  that  much 
disease  and  a  great  deal  of  discomfort  could 
be  remedied.  The  job  was  not  ours  but  be- 
longed to  the  French,  and  it  seemed  doubtful 
if  it  could  be  done.  However,  the  Government 
appointed  a  very  wonderful  man  as  Medecin- 
chef  for  Rapatries,  Dr.  Paul  Armand-Delille 
— and  he  was  determined  to  oflFer  baths  to  these 
rapatries.  His  helpers  discouraged  him,  said 
it  was  not  possible,  that  he  would  have  a  revo- 
lution if  he  tried  to  force  baths  upon  these  re- 
turning people.  Well,  you  know  the  world 
has  learned  anew  a  certain  French  quality,  the 
quality  that  makes  French  soldiers  get  ahead 
of  their  protecting  fire  in  their  determination 
to  reach  their  goal.  The  French  Medecin-chef 
wanted  baths;  he  believed  in  baths;  and  there 
are  baths. 

Yes,  I  have  been  for  two  hours  watching  his 
interesting  demonstration.  He  has  had  the 
regular  army  shower  barracks  erected  close  to 
the  big  Casino  and  reached  by  a  covered  pas- 
sageway. The  central  barrack  is  a  general 
check  room  where  the  people  leave  their  val- 
uables; then  the  men  have  a  barrack,  the  boys 


A  BOY  AT  EVIAN  WHO  HAS  L03T  HIS  LEFT  EYE  AND  HAS  A  MUTILATED 
LEFT  HAND  AS  THE  RESULT  OF  A  LOADED  PENCIL  GIVEN  HIM  BY  A 
GERMAN    SOLDIER.       ANOTHER    CASE    IS    MENTIONED    ON    PAGE   66 


Mi. 


And  the  Red  Cross  49 

have  theirs,  and  the  women  and  girls  and  tiny- 
children  share  another. 

We  went  first  to  see  the  boys.  The  big  room 
was  warm  and  steamy;  at  the  far  end  are  the 
big  steam  sterilizers  for  their  clothes,  and  the 
whole  water  control.  In  the  center  are  the 
showers,  twenty-four  sprays,  and  in  front  of 
the  showers  are  the  boys,  sitting  in  rows  wait- 
ing for  their  turns.  Half  of  them  are  un- 
dressed at  a  time,  their  clothes  placed  in  rope 
bags  and  put  into  the  sterilizer.  The  other  half 
sit  watching  and  waiting  the  signal  for  them 
to  undress.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  it 
all — their  eager  happy  faces,  their  squeals  of 
delight  when  they  drop  their  bath  robes  and 
prance  out  under  the  shower  for  their  scrub. 
Two  young  priests  in  rubber  suits  superintend 
the  scrubbing,  and  how  they  work!  The  big 
boys  go  at  themselves  with  vigor,  beginning 
with  their  heads  and  thoroughly  cleaning  them- 
selves. The  little  boys  have  to  be  helped  be- 
cause they  get  so  excited  they  drop  their  soap, 
and  there  is  many  a  scramble  to  get  the  slippery 
piece  back.  The  room  gets  full  of  steam  and 
you  see  the  young  white  bodies  flashing  about 
through  the  gray  mist.    One  small  boy  man- 


50  The  Children  of  France 

aged  to  stand  on  his  head  under  his  spray,  just 
as  a  final  expression  of  joy,  before  he  stepped 
off  to  give  place  to  another. 

It  is  wonderful !  They  are  all  laughing  and 
shouting;  you  cannot  believe  they  are  the  same 
depressed  looking  children  you  helped  off  the 
train  an  hour  before.  I  spoke  to  the  Medecin- 
chef  of  that.  He  said:  "Ah,  you  see,  Madame, 
another  reason  why  I  wanted  the  baths;  these 
poor  people  are  too  sad,  they  must  laugh  or 
they  cannot  live." 

He  took  me  to  the  other  barracks.  It  was 
just  the  same,  young  and  old  men  were  laugh- 
ing like  the  boys.  To  be  free  and  to  be  clean, 
it's  a  wonderful  combination! 

The  only  protests  were  heard  in  the  women's 
barrack  where  some  of  the  tiny  children  were 
frightened  by  the  noise  of  the  sprays  and  the 
steam.  The  women's  barrack  has  the  showers 
arranged  with  linen  curtains  in  between  so 
that  each  person  is  standing  in  a  small  com- 
partment. 

It  is  a  splendid  bit  of  French  efficiency. 
No  one  is  forced  to  bathe,  but  it  is  all  pre- 
sented in  such  a  way  that  no  one  wants  to 
miss  it.    There  are  posters  up  in  the  trains  that 


And  the  Red  Cross  51 

bring  them,  telling  of  the  wonderful  hot 
douches  to  be  had  at  Evian-les-Bains.  Hand- 
bills are  scattered  around  explaining  just  how 
it  is  all  done.  It  is  part  of  France's  welcome  to 
her  people ;  it  is  all  free,  and  it  is  done  for  their 
comfort.  Barbers  are  there  for  the  men  and 
boys  and  coiffeurs  for  the  women. 

Even  babies  are  provided  with  separate  little 
tubs,  and  in  the  middle  of  all  that  din  and  steam 
in  the  women's  and  girls'  barrack  I  saw  a  small 
tot  in  his  tub  quite  absorbed  in  chasing  the  soap 
around  as  it  floated,  just  as  I  have  watched 
your  small  David  do  at  home.  This  mite's 
mother  was  taking  her  bath  inside  the  curtain 
and  she  kept  putting  her  head  out  and  talking 
to  him,  and  the  baby  would  laugh  and  splash. 
He  finally  ended  by  throwing  the  soap  at  me 
just  to  make  friends. 

I  had  wondered  about  those  baths  when  I 
heard  they  had  been  installed.  It  seemed  to 
me  a  tremendous  undertaking  to  bathe  fifteen 
hundred  transient  people  daily  and  do  it  thor- 
oughly and  well.  And  yet  there  it  is  running 
smoothly,  and  already  the  people  in  the  In- 
terior are  speaking  of  the  improvement  in  the 
condition  of  the  rapatries  when  they  arrive. 


52  The  Children  of  France 

I  must  say  I  like  the  laughter  quite  as  much 
as  the  cleanliness  for  them  all.  You  can  hear 
the  gay  sounds  quite  a  distance  away.  The 
whole  place  seems  happier.  I  can't  explain  it ; 
I  am  not  at  all  like  the  American  who  came 
down  here  to  see  this  great  moving  tragedy  and 
attributed  all  the  emotions  he  saw  at  the  Casino 
to  the  handy  said  that  all  tears  were  caused  by 
the  vibration  of  the  solar  plexus  and  therefore 
those  who  sat  nearest  the  music  cried  the 
loudest !  But  I  liked  Dr.  Armand-Delille's  ex- 
pression, "they  are  too  sad,  they  must  laugh  or 
they  cannot  live."  That  bath  does  not  change 
the  great  hideous  facts  for  them,  but  they 
laugh  heartily  for  the  first  time  in  many  weary 
months,  and  if  you  have  done  that  once,  I  only 
claim  it  is  easier  to  do  it  the  second  time. 

It  is  snowing  to-night  and  the  twinkling 
lights  everywhere  look  so  cheerful — ^like  a 
Christmas  post-card. 


And  the  Red  Cross  53 


Evian,  France, 
December  14,.  1917 

I  HAVE  been  up  at  the  hospital  all  day  and 
have  spent  most  of  my  time  in  our  dental  clinic. 
Indeed,  you  see,  we  offer  every  attraction. 
Dr.  W.  has  his  office  in  one  of  the  villas  where 
we  have  a  daily  dispensary  for  cases  not  in  need 
of  hospital  care.  The  office  itself  is  mighty  in- 
teresting, an  illustration  of  Yankee  ingenuity. 
Dr.  W.'s  chair  did  not  appear  with  the  rest  of 
the  equipment;  no  one  knows  where  it  is.  It 
may  appear,  it  may  not.  In  the  meantime  Dr. 
W.  has  made  a  perfectly  comfortable  dentist's 
chair  out  of  a  wine  barrel;  one  side  is  scooped 
out  so  you  sit  comfortably,  and  then  all  kinds 
of  pieces  are  nailed  on  back  and  sides  so  that 
when  it  is  covered  with  its  clean  cover  it  looks 
just  like  the  real  torture  chair  we  all  know. 


54 


The  Children  of  France 


It  is  not  easy  for  the  doctor,  because  he  can't 
adjust  it,  but  Dr.  W.  is  the  kind  of  man  who 
adjusts  himself. 

I  wish  you  could  see  him  with  the  children. 
He  simply  has  them  hypnotized.  I  expected  to 
hear  nothing  but  howls;  instead,  just  occa- 
sional groans  such  as  grown-ups  give  forth  un- 
der like  circumstances.  Dr.  W.  lays  it  all  to 
the  chair;  he  says  the  "good  spirits"  emanate 
from  that.  Well,  it  is  marvelous,  whatever  the 
cause,  and  he  hurts  them  too.  But  the  children 
are  very  proud  to  be  taken  care  of  by  an  Amer- 
ican doctor.  I  saw  one  small  boy's  arms  and 
legs  stiffen  with  the  pain,  but  he  never  clutched 
the  doctor's  arms  once,  as  I  should  have  done; 
he  just  bore  it.  The  stimulus  of  an  audience 
is  effective  too,  I  think.  The  chair  faces  the 
window  on  the  road,  and  small  heads  reach  to 
the  window-sill  and  many  pairs  of  eyes  gaze  in 
admiringly. 

There  were  many  pathetic  cases  to-day.  One 
boy  of  eight  with  his  entire  head  still  bandaged 
from  wounds  from  shell  fire  sat  so  patiently  in 
the  chair,  his  blue  eyes  fastened  upon  Dr.  W.'s 
face  with  a  look  the  doctor  will  never  forget, 
I  am  sure.    Another  case  was  a  little  girl  of 


And  the  Red  Cross  55 

twelve  with  one  leg  gone  'way  above  the  knee ; 
she  was  hurt  in  the  bombardment  of  her  vil- 
lage. She  had  soft  dark  eyes  and  such^  pretty 
hair,  but  her  teeth  were  in  such  bad  condition 
she  said  they  ached  all  the  time.  But  really, 
my  dear,  I  often  wonder  whether  there  are  any 
here  who  do  not  ache  all  over  all  the  time ! 

The  real  moment  in  the  dental  chair  is  when 
you  have  a  tooth  pulled  out.  That  is  now  a 
glorious  experience.  Dr.  W.  calls  the  bad 
tooth  that  must  come  out  "a  Boche,"  and  I  tell 
you  they  come  out  quickly.  "Out  with  the 
Boche!"  says  Dr.  W.,  his  eyes  twinkling,  and 
everybody  stiffens,  small  hands  grip  the  sides, 
and  the  "trench  is  taken!"  Really,  you  know, 
the  dentist  who  can  make  himself  popular  with 
half-sick,  frightened  children  is  inspired.  And 
the  older  people  come  too,  and  are  so  grateful. 
None  of  these  things  have  been  available  for 
the  civil  population  for  over  three  years,  and 
these  people  have  suffered  so  many  little  in- 
conveniences as  well  as  the  big  tragedies.  You 
can  easily  imagine  that  a  grinding  toothache  is 
more  difficult  to  bear  than  a  bombardment. 
One  little  boy  said   most   emphatically  when 


56  The  Children  of  France 

asked  which  tooth  ached :  "They  all  ache, — piiU 
them  all  out." 

It  is  amazing  to  see  how  reasonable  these 
youngsters  are  after  all  they  have  been 
through;  and  yet  there  is  a  side  to  their  obe- 
dience that  hurts.  They  act  as  though  they 
had  lived  under  strict  orders  and  did  not  dare 
to  breathe  if  told  not  to. 

As  I  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  villa  before 
coming  back  to  the  hotel  to-night,  a  big  fluffy 
collie  dog  came  bounding  up  to  me  in  a  most 
friendly  fashion.  I  was  astonished  to  see  such 
a  beautiful,  well-groomed  dog  with  the  ra- 
patrie  tag  on,  but  a  fine-looking  elderly  man 
came  up  with  her  and  called  her  off,  as  she  was 
almost  embracing  me. 

The  man  had  come  to  take  the  little  crippled 
girl  back  to  their  lodgings.  We  talked  awhile 
as  he  waited. 

"Julie,"  he  said,  "is  so  eager  to  find  my  wife. 
She  died  last  spring,  and  Julie  has  never  un- 
derstood. There  are  only  Julie  and  Marie 
left." 

He  nodded  toward  the  clinic.  He  was  not 
asking  for  sympathy,  just  stating  facts.  I  find 
such  moments  hardest  to  bear.    You  want  to 


And  the  Bed  Cross  57 

put  your  arms  around  these  people, — ^well — I 
gave  the  dog  a  big  hug.  She  was  such  a 
beauty!  And  when  Marie  came  out  on  her 
crutches,  you  never  dreamed  of  such  gentleness 
as  that  dog  expressed.  She  just  hovered 
around  the  child  and  yet  never  got  in  her  way. 
And  I  heard  a  thoughtless  person  criticize  these 
poor  people  for  bringing  such  pets  with  them ! 
Well,  I  can't  imagine  leaving  a  dog  I  loved 
behind. 

Our  hospital  has  one  small  black-and-white 
dog  living  there.  It  belongs  to  a  very  sick 
little  lad  up  in  the  scarlet-fever  ward,  and  all 
day  long  that  little  dog  sits  on  the  steps  watch- 
ing the  door.  Many  children  are  carried  in  and 
he  shows  little  interest,  but  let  a  child  come  out, 
and  every  hair  quivers. 

It  is  the  little  things,  the  poignant  little 
things  that  stiffen  resolves  over  here.  When 
you  stand  in  a  ward  just  back  of  the  line,  filled 
with  those  terribly  wounded  men,  you  are  all 
dumb.  It  is  too  awful  to  grasp  or  sense;  you 
come  out  dazed;  your  feelings  are  all  big  and 
general.  But  when  you  come  down  here  to 
these  results,  especially  with  the  old  people  and 


58  The  Children  of  France 

the  children,  you  find  the  whole  wretched  busi- 
ness a  personal  matter. 

Last  night  I  came  down  to  the  Casino  with 
an  old,  old  woman,  eighty-two  years  old,  she 
said  she  was.  She  looked  it.  I  begged  her  to 
ride  but  she  insisted  upon  walking.  She  con- 
sented to  my  carrying  her  bundle.  It  was  so 
heavy — something  round  and  hard  tied  up  in 
a  thick  linen  towel — that  as  my  arm  ached  my 
curiosity  grew.  I  tried  to  think  out  what  the 
bundle  could  contain.    Finally  I  asked  her. 

"Ah,  Madame!  They  are  my  best  plates — 
from  my  wedding  day  I  have  had  them." 

Little  things !  I  feel  all  battered  and  bruised 
to-night.  How  are  we  ever  to  forget  these  lit- 
tle aching  things?  You  feel  that  the  very 
buildings  in  this  town  will  breathe  sadness  for 
years  to  come.  And  yet  think  of  all  the  pluck, 
the  bravery  and  the  hope!  Yes,  these  are  big- 
ger than  the  sadness,  after  all.  Good-night. 
That  collie  dog  made  me  homesick,  and  I  can't 
forget  those  wedding  plates,  and  it's  almost 
Christmas! 


Ind  the  Red  Cross  59 


Chateau  des  HaUes,  Ste,  Foy  VArgentihre, 

November  20,  1917 

I  WANT  to  tell  you  about  this  heavenly  spot 
before  it  is  actually  opened.  I  have  been  wait- 
ing for  time  in  which  to  tell  you  about  it  ever 
since  the  Red  Cross  decided  to  take  it  and  make 
a  convalescent  hospital  out  of  it.  It  is  a  won- 
derful old  estate  with  a  fine  modern  chateau 
on  it  that  belonged  to  Monsieur  Mangini,  the 
French  engineer  who  built  the  Riviera  rail- 
road. At  his  widow's  death,  the  Lyon  Hos- 
pital were  given  this  estate  to  be  used  as  a 
jconvalescent  hospital  for  children.  Owing  to 
war  conditions  the  Lyon  Hospital  Commit- 
tee could  not  avail  themselves  of  the  chateau, 
so  they  offered  it  to  the  Red  Cross  free,  if  the 
Red  Cross  would  leave  it  fitted  up  as  a  hos- 
pital after  the  war.     Our  Children's  Bureau 


60  The  Children  of  France 

have  been  hard  at  work  on  the  equipping  of  it 
for  several  weeks,  and  now  we  are  ready  for 
patients.  It  has  been  a  big  job  and  only 
through  the  untiring  push  and  intelligence  of 
Mrs.  H.,  our  business  manager  here,  have  we 
been  able  to  open  so  soon. 

In  one  way  the  chateau  is  an  ideal  spot  for 
such  a  hospital.  It  stands  high  on  a  hill  with 
a  fine  old  forest  around  it  of  cedars,  pines  and 
redwoods,  with  a  splendid  farm  running  on  the 
estate  to  supply  us  with  milk,  butter,  eggs  and 
vegetables.  The  house  itself,  being  modern  in 
arrangements  and  conveniences — it  was  built 
in  1885 — adapted  itself  quite  easily  to  a  hos- 
pital of  wards,  isolation  rooms,  play  rooms, 
laboratory,  and  even  a  beautiful  Gothic  chapel 
for  service,  as  it  is  a  long  walk  to  any  village 
church.  The  great  job  was  to  supplement  its 
heating  facilities,  to  install  a  bigger  hot  water 
system,  and  to  extend  the  electricity  and  ar- 
range for  the  laundry  work  in  hospital  quan- 
tities. These  things  have  all  been  done  in  the 
face  of  difficulties  most  people  would  have  felt 
insurmountable,  but  nothing  daunts  Mrs.  H., 
not  even  a  stubborn  Frenchman.  She  speaks 
French  just  as  well  as  English,  and  she  can 


CHATEAU    DES    HALLES.       AMERICAN    RED    CROSS    CONVALESCENT   HOSPITAL 
FOR     CHILDREN     NEAR     LYON 


And  the  Red  Cross  61 

sputter  as  long  and  as  loud  as  her  opponent 
and  be  perfectly  good-natured  and  smiling 
when  it  is  all  over.  A  most  healthy  respect  for 
her  has  been  established  in  the  chateau  and  the 
nearby  villages  she  has  dealt  with,  more  than 
that, — a  real  friendly  affection.  Even  the 
servants,  Jean,  Marie  and  Clotilde,  whom  we 
inherit  with  the  chateau,  have  been  able  to  jimip 
out  of  the  grooves  of  forty  years  of  service 
here  and  do  things  for  her  that  they  have  never 
done  before  and  never  will  do  again  in  the 
world  I  fancy,  for  any  one  else  but  this  Amer- 
ican woman  who  astonishes  them. 

The  chateau  is  a  wonderful  place  to-night, 
everything  is  ready  for  the  first  cases ;  we  will 
begin  with  ten  at  a  time  and  work  up  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  as  our  Evian  Hospital  fills 
up  and  needs  an  outlet  for  convalescent  ra- 
patries,  and  of  course  the  rapatries  children 
who  reach  Lyon  and  who  need  care  are  wel- 
come whether  they  have  been  in  our  hospital  at 
Evian  or  not.  The  little  beds  are  all  ready; 
the  walls  of  the  rooms  have  been  carefully  cov- 
ered to  protect  them.  Such  beautiful  carved 
woodwork!  The  lower  part  has  been  covered, 
but  nothing  hides  the  paintings  in  the  play- 


62  The  Children  of  France 

room,  of  deer  and  dogs  and  rollicking  hunt- 
ers. The  deep  red  carpet  has  been  left  on  the 
white  marble  stair-case  so  that  the  great  en- 
trance hall  used  by  the  staff  visitors  looks  much 
as  it  might  have  looked  before.  The  ofBce, 
too,  is  a  beautiful  room  with  its  Italian  marble 
fireplace  filling  one  end;  and  old  carved  cup- 
boards and  chests,  two  fine  spacious  oak  tables 
and  high  backed  chairs  give  the  feeling  of  per- 
sonality one  can  never  entirely  separate  from 
such  a  place.  All  the  furnishings  that  were 
practical  for  our  use  for  offices,  staff  rooms  and 
management  were  left  in  the  chateau,  so  that 
much  of  the  beauty  remains.  I  wonder  what 
the  children  will  think. 

The  fall  coloring  still  lingers  in  the  land- 
scape; it  is  crisp  and  cold  and  so  lovely  out  of 
doors,  and  the  big  house  is  in  apple-pie  order 
for  these  homeless  kiddies  from  that  awful  dis- 
trict, the  invaded  district.  What  little  real  im- 
pression that  word  made  on  me  before  I  saw 
invaded  districts,  destroyed  villages  and  ruined 
homes  I  I  am  so  glad  we  have  the  beautiful 
place  for  the  hospital,  it  seems  to  me  it  miist 
be  comforting  to  the  children  I  have  Seen  at 
Evian  to  come  to  such  a  place  as  this.    The 


And  the  Red  Cross  63 

love  and  devoted  work  that  have  gone  into 
everything  here  that  these  Red  Cross  workers 
have  done,  must  sink  into  them  somehow. 

The  village  of  Les  Halles  is  very  much  ex- 
cited over  having  its  loved  chateau  opened 
again ;  the  villagers  are  largely  women  and  chil- 
dren now,  though  some  old  men,  gardeners, 
road  menders  and  the  like,  are  always  appear- 
ing around  the  bend  of  the  roads,  in  blue 
smocks,  with  red  kerchiefs  tied  round  their 
necks — the  most  picturesque  human  beings  in 
existence,  and  the  dirtiest.  The  chateau  gar- 
dener, Pierre,  is  the  husband  of  our  cook, 
Marie,  and  is  assigned  to  military  service  at 
the  front.  He  has  been  so  valuable  to  us  on 
his  "permission,"  that  Mrs.  H.  hopes  to  get  him 
transferred  to  Red  Cross  service.  He  is  fifty 
years  old.  It  would  be  a  great  stroke,  for 
Marie  has  infinite  possibilities  for  unpleasant- 
ness and  we  feel  Pierre  is  the  only  one  who  can 
keep  her  in  order.  As  she  is  inherited  with  the 
chateau  we  feel  anxious.  Jean,  the  butler, 
stands  solidly  upon  his  thirty  years  of  service, 
and  I  imagine  nothing  but  a  machine  gun  will 
ever  move  him  from  certain  positions. 

One  thing  has  been  done  which  Jean  finds 


64  The  Children  of  France 

it  hard  to  forgive.  The  fine  old  oak  table,  large 
enough  to  seat  twenty  people,  has  been  brought 
upstairs  from  the  servants'  kitchen  and  rubbed 
and  oiled  for  the  staff  dining-room,  which  has 
been  made  out  of  Jean's  china  closet.  The 
double  blow  of  changing  the  table  and  invading 
his  sacred  cupboards  has  had  a  most  solemn 
effect  upon  him.  He  passed  all  the  food  to 
Mrs.  H.  last  at  dinner  last  night;  that  is  his 
way,  we  have  found,  of  expressing  his  disap- 
proval. But  there  are  only  six  servants  now 
and  there  is  another  big  table  for  them.  This 
one  is  so  lovely  we  are  to  dispense  with  any 
linen  for  it — even  doilies;  that  too  hurts 
Jean.  I  think  he  considers  us  almost  as  dif- 
ficult to  bear  as  the  Germans.  To  have  been 
willed  to  the  Lyon  Hospital  to  start  with, 
and  to  land  in  the  hands  of  Americans  who 
move  his  beloved  things  about! 

And  yet  I  have  a  feeling  he  likes  us  in  spite 
of  it  all,  at  least  some  of  us;  the  Doctor  and 
one  of  our  ambulance  men,  a  boy  with  dimples 
and  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  get  anything  from 
Jean  they  want,  but  he  has  not  yet  smiled 
upon  any  of  us. 

Pierre  is  different;  he  is  full  of  smiles;  longs 


And  the  Red  Cross  65 

to  get  back  to  his  beloved  garden  and  grounds. 
I  think  he  is  glad  of  the  new  life  we  are  bring- 
ing. When  we  came  out  here  to  see  the  place 
in  early  October  there  was  the  most  exquisite 
display  of  gorgeous  roses  in  the  terrace  gar- 
den, blooming  alone  in  the  golden  sunshine. 
The  chateau  was  closed,  boarded  up,  with  the 
servants  living  in  the  kitchen  region.  From 
that  terrace  you  look  down  the  valley  toward 
Lyon,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  views  of 
French  country  I  have  seen  anywhere.  I  think 
Pierre  feels  he  would  rather  have  little  ra- 
patries  here  than  that  awful  emptiness  that 
comes  to  loved  places  when  those  who  made 
and  loved  them  have  gone.  I  hope  Mrs.  H. 
can  get  him  secured  for  us.  He  would  be  a 
wonderful  tonic  for  a  convalescent  child — 
Pierre  and  his  roses ! 

'*I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  rose  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled; 
That  every  hyacinth  the  garden  wears 
Dropt  in  her  lap  from  some  once  lovely  head." 

I  don't  know  just  why  that  came  into  my 
head,  but  the  beauty  of  the  place,  its  dead  past 
and  all  the  future  that  is  on  the  way  to  it,  sort 


66 


The  Children  of  France 


of  fascinate  me  to-night.  A  French  chateau, 
run  by  the  Americans,  for  the  care  of  little  chil- 
dren victims  of  Prussian  militarism!  Was 
there  ever  such  a  soil  before  in  which  to  plant 
a  service? 

It  is  interesting  to  feel  the  thrill  in  the  house 
to-night  as  the  staff  wait  for  the  first  children. 
However  vain  may  be  the  military  powers  in 
this  world,  something  very  big  and  beautiful 
must  come  out  of  such  a  work  as  this. 

As  I  look  across  the  valley  the  sunset  glow 
still  shines  on  the  spire  of  a  tiny  village  church 
piled  up  against  the  sky.  The  beautiful  quiet 
of  the  night  coming  on  is  so  peaceful,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  believe  we  are  here  because  of  war, 

and  yet  only  yesterday  in  L I  saw  a  little 

girl  of  twelve,  blind  in  one  eye,  three  fingers 
of  her  right  hand  gone  and  her  right  side  in- 
jured, as  the  result  of  a  loaded  pencil  given  her 
by  a  German  soldier. 

Good-night,  dear.  When  the  children  come, 
I'll  try  to  tell  you  about  each  one  of  them,  the 
first  ones  at  least.  They  are  coming  out  from 
Lyon  and  we  are  going  in  after  them,  ten  of 
them.    I  hope  at  least  a  few  will  come  from 


And  the  Red  Cross  67 

Evian  because  then  they  will  find  some  of  us 
friends  here. 

I  wish  you  could  see  the  lights  and  shadows 
creeping  from  the  woods  just  back  of  us.  It 
is  going  to  be  a  wonderful  night,  what  C.  used 
to  call  a  "Henley  night" — 

"the  darkening  air 
Thrills  with  a  sense  of  the  triumphing  nighty 
Night,  with  her  train  of  stars 
And  her  great  gift  of  sleep.'* 

Speaking  of  sleep,  I  must  say  just  one  thing 
more.  We  all  have  such  strange  dreams  over 
here.  Last  night  K.  dreamed  that  over  one 
hundred  and  fifty  beds  ordered  for  the  chateau 
did  not  arrive  and  eight  hundred  children  did, 
and  Pierre  planted  them  all  in  the  greenhouses 
in  rows,  saying:  "It's  the  best  way  for  French 
children — ^in  the  spring  they  come  up  again  in 
good  condition."    Voilal 


68  The  Children  of  France 


Chateau  des  Holies,  Ste.  Foy  VArgentQre, 

November  22,  1917 

Such  a  wait  yesterday  for  those  children! 
All  day  long.  They  did  not  leave  Lyon  until 
the  four  o'clock  train  and  it  was  quite  dark 
when  they  reached  Ste.  Foy.  I  wish  I  could 
give  you  an  idea  of  that  little  group  as  they 
clung  together  on  the  platform.  They  had 
been  told  at  Lyon  that  they  were  the  first  chil- 
dren to  come  to  the  American  Hospital,  and 
they  must  arrive  clean,  and  they  must  be  good. 
The  result  of  such  a  declamation  was  the  most 
intense  and  awestricken  group.  Dr.  O.,  with 
his  usual  tact,  broke  the  ice  by  picking  up  the 
smallest  child  and  starting  for  the  ambulance. 
Miss  N.  carried  another  and  the  rest  came  eag- 
erly. The  ambulance  men  swung  them  into  the 
car  with  a  flourish  that  delighted  them,  and  in 


And  the  Red  Cross  69 

a  few  minutes  they  were  chattering  away,  ask- 
ing questions,  and  pressing  up  against  the  front 
to  see  where  they  were  going.  When  they  saw 
the  lights  of  the  chateau  across  the  valley  they 
began  to  quiet  down  a  bit,  and  by  the  time 
they  reached  the  chateau  they  were  silent.  A 
ride  was  one  thing,  a  strange  place  was  quite 
another  matter.  But  our  nurses  and  aides  were 
so  friendly  and  gay  with  them,  that  although 
they  parted  with  their  coats  and  caps  rather 
reluctantly,  they  were  too  hungry  to  object  to 
supper.  Of  course  we  all  hovered  around  them. 
We  could  not  help  it.  It  was  so  splendid  to 
have  things  really  begin. 

The  children's  dining-room  used  to  be  the 
servants'  hall.  It  is  a  fine  room,  all  paneled  in 
oak,  with  cupboards  lining  the  walls,  and  a  big 
fireplace.  Mrs.  H.  has  low  tables  and  little 
benches  for  the  children,  and  the  tables  are  cov- 
ered with  a  checker-board  blue  and  white  tile* 
that  makes  them  pretty  and  easy  to  keep  clean. 

How  they  enjoyed  that  supper!  Many 
smiles  began  to  come  from  all  but  little  Jean. 
He  refused  to  eat.  He  did  not  cry,  but  kept 
asking  for  his  brother  who  had  not  been  sent 
with  him.     His  head  was  bandaged  and  his 


70  The  Children  of  France 

hands  covered  with  sores,  a  most  miserable 
looking  little  fellow.  He  just  sat  there,  look- 
ing at  us  all  and  asking  for  his  "frere."  When 
the  other  children  were  through  little  Jean  still 
sat  there ;  so  we  left  him  with  one  of  the  nurses, 
and  when  he  was  alone,  he  ate  his  supper 
quickly,  she  said. 

Then  came  the  "clean-up"  and  examination 
of  them  all.  As  much  as  is  known  about  them 
came  with  them  on  their  cards.  I  am  going 
to  give  you  as  much  as  we  know  of  the  first 
group.  I  shall  not  have  time  probably  to  do 
it  for  the  later  ones,  time  gets  so  full,  but  those 
ten  will  probably  be  more  or  less  typical  of  our 
children. 

Marie  is  the  youngest,  four  years  old;  her 
eyes  are  almost  closed  with  sores  and  her  ears 
are  even  worse.  Her  father  has  been  killed  in 
the  war  and  her  mother  has  just  died  in  the 
hospital  at  Chambery.  At  Evian  she  has  two 
little  brothers  and  a  grandmother. 

Jean  is  next;  he  is  five  years  old.  The 
nurse  found  him  literally  covered  with  abscesses 
from  the  skin  disease  he  has,  and  the  back  of 
his  head  is  in  bad  condition.  No  wonder  he 
could  not  eat  at  first.    His  mother  is  dead,  his 


And  the  Red  Cross  71 

father  a  prisoner.  He  comes  from  the  lovely 
Ardennes. 

Yvonne  and  Pierrette  are  sisters,  ten  and 
seven  years  old.  Their  mother  is  dead,  their 
father  has  just  been  killed.  Yvonne  is  sus- 
picious T.  B.  and  Pierrette  is  convalescent 
from  diphtheria.  They  come  from  the  little 
village  of  Charmes  in  the  Aisne. 

Louis  is  six  years  old.  He  comes  from 
Arleux.  His  father  is  a  prisoner.  His  mother 
was  killed  in  January,  1915.  He  has  three 
brothers  and  four  sisters  now  at  the  orphanage 
in  Lyon.  The  doctor  says  he  is  "loaded  with 
infected  glands." 

Little  Etienne  is  five  years  old.  He  has 
just  come  through  from  Saint-Quentin  where 
his  father  and  older  brother  are  now  prisoners. 
His  mother  died  last  January.  He  is  lucky; 
he  has  a  twenty-year-old  sister  who  was  ra- 
patried  with  him,  and  she  is  going  to  work  and 
look  after  him  when  he  is  well.  He  is  in  very 
bad  condition  from  lack  of  food. 

Aurelien,  Achille  and  Jules  are  broth- 
ers, five  and  a  half,  seven  and  eight.  Their 
father  is  a  soldier.  They  told  us  that  so 
proudly.    Their  mother  died  the  first  year  of 


72  The  Children  of  France 

the  war.  They  are  all  suffering  from  skin  dis- 
eases. Poor  Jules'  eyes  are  so  bad  he  cannot 
bear  the  light. 

Voltaire  is  five  years  old.  His  father 
is  a  prisoner  at  Lens.  His  mother  is  at  a  hos- 
pital in  Lille.  His  big  sister  Jeanne,  eighteen 
and  a  half,  was  allowed  to  bring  him  and  his 
two  little  brothers  out ;  she  will  look  after  them. 
Voltaire  is  suffering  just  from  the  usual  skin 
infection.  He  will  be  well  soon.  He  has  the 
sweetest  dimples. 

The  children  were  very  tired  last  night,  just 
fell  into  their  beds  and  went  right  to  sleep. 
They  were  all  together  in  the  big  wards ;  Miss 

N thought  it  best  until  they  were  more  at 

home.  No  one  cried  but  Jean,  and  he  sobbed 
himself  to  sleep.  No  one  could  comfort  him; 
he  wanted  his  "frere."  I  think  our  nurses  suf- 
fered more  than  he  did.    Miss  A went  in 

again  and  again  to  pat  him,  and  sing  to  him, 
but  in  vain.  It  seemed  such  a  long  time  be- 
fore the  little  moaning  sob  stopped. 

This  morning  they  are  all  happy.  The  hour 
in  the  big  bathroom,  first  a  soak  in  the  tub  and 
then  a  shower,  made  them  all  shine,  and  they 
loved  it.    They  want  to  know  when  they  will 


And  the  Bed  Cros^  78 

have  it  again.  Even  Jean  smiled,  although 
he  had  to  be  handled  most  carefully. 

As  I  came  out  of  the  bathroom  a  little  while 
ago  I  almost  knocked  old  Jean  down.  He  was 
listening  at  the  door.  Clothilde  says  he  has  a 
"key-hole  ear," — he  has  listened  to  everything 
for  thirty  years.  One  thing  he  is  cross  about 
is  that  he  cannot  listen,  he  does  not  under- 
stand. Well,  I  was  delighted  to  find  him  lis- 
tening to  the  children.  He  looked  quite  pleas- 
ant. He  endures  me  because  I  am  not  of  the 
staff.  I  was  rather  hurt  at  his  pleasure  at 
the  news  that  I  am  going  off  to  Evian  to- 
morrow and  will  not  be  back  here  until  Christ- 
mas. He  assured  me  it  would  be  too  cold  to 
come  here  for  Christmas. 

Well,  so  much  for  our  first  ten.  We  will 
have  fifty  here  by  Christmas.  We  will  increase 
the  numbers  as  rapidly  as  our  supplies  of  coal 
reach  us.  We  want  one  hundred  and  fifty 
here  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  children  are  exploring  the  chateau  to- 
day, tiptoeing  around  most  eagerly.  It  is  a 
fairy  castle  to  them,  I  imagine.  My  room  is 
in  the  big  wing  leading  to  the  chapel  and  from 
this  floor  you  can  enter  the  little  gallery  of 


74  The  Children  of  France 

the  chapel.  I  love  to  look  in  upon  it,  it  is  such 
a  beautiful  bit  of  Gothic,  and  I  did  so  a  little 
while  ago.  The  sunshine  streamed  in  through 
the  lovely  windows  across  the  altar.  Below, 
quite  close,  little  Yvonne  was  kneeling  all 
alone,  her  poor  thin  shoulders  shaking  with 
sobs.  I  closed  the  gallery  door  without  a 
sound.  I  have  her  card  here  in  my  hand. 
"Yvonne,  ten  years  old.  Mother  dead.  Fa- 
ther has  just  been  killed.  Probably  tuber- 
cular." 

And  yet  only  last  week  in  Paris  an  Ameri- 
can newspaper  woman  said  to  me:  "I  am  not 
yet  convinced  that  civilian  relief  is  wise.  It 
seems  to  me  to  confuse  the  issue." 

Really  there  are  times  when  language  is 
most  inadequate.  The  issue!  What  is  the 
issue  if  it  isn't  saving  the  future  generation, 
little  Jeans,  Maries  and  Yvonnes?  The  mili- 
tary? Yes,  always.  But  what  puts  more 
courage  into  a  fighting  man  than  the  thought 
that  those  he  is  fighting  for  are  going  to  be 
cared  for  somewhere  behind  him? 

You  see  men  who  have  been  taken  from 
"No-Man's  Land" — and  it  is  a  terrible  place, 
that  land  between  the  enemies'  trenches  and 


And  the  Red  Cross  75 

our  lines — ^but  that  little  sobbing  girl  down 
there  came  from  just  as  terrible  a  place, — "No- 
Child's  Land,"  behind  the  enemies'  trenches. 

I  get  so  angry  I  cry.  I  always  have  done 
that,  you  remember,  and  I  must  not;  but  to 
my  mind  nothing  is  too  good  or  too  beautiful 
for  these  ten  little  un-decorated  heroes  who 
have  escaped  from  prison.  Be  proud  of  your 
American  Red  Cross  that  stands  for  the  chil- 
dren as  well  as  for  their  soldier  fathers  and 
brothers. 

I  feel  sometimes  as  though  I  must  shout 
that  from  the  housetops.  Do  it  for  me,  won't 
you? 


76 


The  Children  of  France 


Chdteau  des  Holies,  Ste,  Foy  VArgentiere, 

Christmas  Eve 


We  came  down  from  Paris  last  night.  Such 
a  crowd  at  the  Gare  de  Lyon!  It  is  a  dra- 
matic episode  leaving  Paris  these  days.  One 
always  feels  "the  Lord  knows  what  we  may 
find,  dear  Lass,  and  the  deuce  knows  what 
we  may  do,"  but  you  do  get  the  train  if  you 
allow  one  hour  to  find  which  one  it  is  and 
where  your  seat  may  be  on  it.  Last  night  the 
station  was  crowded  with  soldiers  "on  permis- 
sion" for  Christmas,  going  both  ways,  coming 
into  Paris  and  leaving  for  the  provinces.  It 
was  a  thrilling  push  through  the  crowd.  The 
French  poilu  carries  so  much  on  his  back  and 
over  his  shoulders  that  when  he  gets  his  bim- 
dles  all  on  and  covers  all  with  his  blue  cape, 
he  is  a  formidable  object,  and  unless  you  have 


And  the  Red  Cross  77 

bundles  suspended  in  a  circle  around  your  mid- 
dle to  meet  him  with,  you  are  decidedly 
squashed  into  a  unique  pattern  when  you  get 
through.  But  such  good  nature,  such  Christ- 
mas cheer!  To  watch  the  crowd  outside  the 
gates  last  night,  waiting  for  the  soldiers  to 
arrive,  is  a  side  of  this  war  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten,— ^mothers,  and  fathers  awaiting  for  young 
boyish  sons,  wives,  sweethearts!  They  fall 
upon  their  poilu  and  snatch  his  heavy  bundles 
away,  to  carry  for  him. 

At  Lyon  this  morning  when  we  arrived,  the 
station  platforms  were  blue  with  men  waiting 
for  our  train.  I  thought  we  should  never  get 
out,  they  piled  into  the  train  so  rapidly,  by  way 
of  the  windows  as  well  as  doors,  until  you  won- 
dered whether  the  old  cars  would  stand  it. 

We  found  Lyon  very  cold  and  covered  with 
dirty  snow  packed  down  and  frozen,  so  that 
we  knew  the  ride  out  to  the  chateau  was  going 
to  be  an  adventure.  We  left  Lyon  at  two 
o'clock.  I  sat  on  the  back  of  the  little  Ford 
ambulance.  Such  a  ride!  After  you  grew  used 
to  the  skidding  and  could  forget  the  idea  that 
the  next  lurch  might  land  you  in  a  snow  drift, 
it  was  wonderful;  the  lovely  winter  landscape, 


78 The  Children  of  France 

great  fields  of  snow,  the  trees  in  heavy  white 
mantles,  the  bushes,  the  hedges,  all  deep  with 
the  snow;  the  tops  of  the  walls  so  evenly 
ledged ;  it  was  exquisite.  And  on  the  road  such 
lovely  flashes  of  color;  old  men  in  red  mufflers 
driving  their  big  pink  pigs,  an  old  woman  in 
her  green  shawl  with  her  stick  and  cow,  a  sol- 
dier now  and  then  in  his  long  blue  cape,  and 
once  an  old  man  in  a  deep  blue  smock  and  an 
old  red  beret  driving  a  donkey.  Everywhere, 
lovely  winter ;  the  everlasting  beauty  of  it  kept 
me  warm;  the  soft  pure  landscape  far  away 
from  the  hideous  war! 

The  forests  on  the  way  to  the  chateau  are 
of  cedar  and  pine  and  some  redwoods,  and  with 
the  snow  on  them,  it  was  fairy  land  full  of 
Christmas  trees.  At  last  across  the  deep  ravine 
the  chateau  came  in  sight.  I  remember  how 
old  Jean  tried  to  discourage  me  about  the  win- 
ter when  I  was  here  before.  I  am  so  glad  to 
be  here  now. 

Our  trusty  little  Ford  climbed  the  last  long 
hill  through  the  forest  and  we  came  up  to  the 
entrance  on  the  broad  terrace  where  I  left  old 
Pierre's  roses — ^now  a  great  stretch  of  deep, 
deep  snow. 


And  the  Red  Cross  79 

When  we  stepped  into  the  great  entrance 
hall,  the  loveliest  sight  was  there,  a  beautiful 
Christmas  tree  all  lighted  standing  just  under 
the  graceful  curve  of  the  great  marble  stair- 
case, the  deep  red  of  the  carpet  on  the  white 
marble,  the  lighted  tree,  the  circle  of  little 
children  sitting  before  it  and  our  nurses  lean- 
ing from  the  landing  above  on  the  stairway, 
and  the  candle  light  over  all.  It  was,  I  am 
sure,  the  most  exquisite  picture  the  old  hall 
had  ever  framed.  Immediately  it  was  ex- 
plained to  us  that  these  were  not  our  children 
but  the  children  from  the  little  chateau  village 
of  Les  Halles,  who  had  come  to  bring  Christ- 
mas gifts  to  our  little  rapatries,  and  Dr.  O 

had  decided  to  give  them  the  old  chateau  wel- 
come on  Christmas  Eve.  So  the  tree  had  been 
lighted  for  them,  and  the  aides  had  served  hot 
chocolate  and  cookies  to  these  village  children. 
Our  own  little  patients  could  not  join  with 
them  because  we  do  not  dare  risk  contagion 
out  here.  Our  children  are  all  in  such  weak- 
ened conditions  from  different  causes  that 
great  care  must  be  taken.  The  village  teacher 
was  here  with  the  children  and  they  sang  a 
Christmas  song.    Don't  you  think  it  was  dear 


80  The  Children  of  France 

of  our  little  village  neighbors?  I  saw  them 
waving  to  our  children  at  the  play-room  win- 
dows as  they  went  off  down  the  snowy  road 
under  the  Christmas  trees. 

It  was  dark  by  four  o'clock,  and  I  had  time 
for  just  one  romp  in  the  play-room  before  sup- 
per. There  are  fifty  children  now,  and  some 
of  them  so  pathetically  happy,  some  of  them 
sick.  They  are  so  good  and  our  aides  have 
worked  hard  to  train  them.  They  marched 
down  to  supper  to-night  so  proudly;  the  small- 
est one  marched  with  me.  It  was  a  picture; 
the  low  room,  the  leaded  panes  in  the  wide  win- 
dows; outside,  the  winter  dusk,  snowy  Christ- 
mas trees  and  high  white  drifts  everywhere; 
inside,  the  warmth  and  cheer  of  the  supper 
table  and  the  happy,  happy  faces  and  the  ex- 
cited voices,  for  the  Noel  was  coming  swiftly 
and  the  children  knew  it. 

It  was  six  o'clock  when  they  were  all  tucked 
in  for  the  night  in  the  big  ward  downstairs 
and  the  moon  was  up  making  a  dream  world 
outside.  As  we  took  the  lights  away,  one  little 
boy  asked  to  have  the  windows  left  opened 
wide  so  he  could  see  "Pere  Noel"  pass  by. 


9  g 


Q  as 


I 


I 


And  the  Red  Cross  81 

And  none  of  the  older  ones  laughed,  they  all 
seconded  his  request. 

I  slipped  upstairs  to  see  the  sick  children. 
It  is  so  sad.  Little  Gaston,  two  years  old,  so 
sweet  and  fair,  is  struggling  with  a  bad  bron- 
chitis and  a  severe  dysentery.  His  mother  is 
sick  in  Evian.  He  does  not  smile  and  just 
lies  there  with  a  little  dumb  look  in  his  face. 
No  one  can  make  him  smile  but  his  brother 
Maurice,  who  is  downstairs.  The  other  very 
sick  child  is  Albert,  two  years  old;  he  has  had 
whooping  cough,  then  pneumonia,  now  bad 
dysentery,  and  to-night  Dr.  O fears  an- 
other pneumonia.  His  father  is  uncertain ;  his 
mother  is  on  her  way  from  Evian  with  four 
other  children  and  will  be  lodged  in  the  vil- 
lage near  here.  I  hope  she  gets  here  soon. 
This  little  mite  is  pretty  sick  and  yet  he  still 
has  resistance  and  his  nurse,  Miss  A ,  in- 
sists that  he  is  going  to  live. 

After  dinner  to-jiight  we  all  gathered  in  the 
office  to  get  the  toys  ready  for  the  Christmas 
tree.  I  shall  never  forget  that  scene;  only 
the  soft  lamp  light  in  the  beautiful  paneled 
room  with  its  Italian  marble  fireplace  at  one 
end,  piled  high  with  great  burning  logs,  the 


82  The  Children  of  France 

lights  reflected  on  the  black  carved  oaken 
chests,  the  high-backed  chairs,  the  big  tables, 
two  of  them  covered  with  gay  toys,  dolls, 
wooden  animals,  horns,  balls,  carts  and  wagons 
— the  kind  one  sees  on  the  roads ;  and  our  nurses 
and  aides  with  their  white  caps  and  soft  white 
collars  open  at  their  throats,  their  eager  inter- 
ested faces  as  they  chose  two  gifts  apiece  for 
their  children.  "Jean — Yvonne  must  have 
that;"  Louis  must  have  a  "donkey,"  and  every 

now  and  then  Dr.  O ,  with  his  teasing  Irish 

wit,  would  throw  in  a  remark  slighting  to  some 
one's  particular  pet,  and  then  such  a  shout  of 
protest  as  rewarded  him. 

It  was  wonderful  the  way  these  workers  for- 
got their  own  homesickness  and  flung  them- 
selves into  the  Christmas  at  this  snowbound 
chateau.  The  blinds  were  not  closed  and  the 
wonderful  moonlight  streamed  into  the  warm 
Christmas  glow  of  that  beautiful  room  with 
the  color  of  the  gifts,  the  faces,  the  voices, 
sometimes  the  laughter  very  close  to  tears 
when  some  one  remembered  "last  year  at 
home."  We  sat  until  the  fire  burned  low  and 
the  room  grew  too  cold  for  comfort.  I  came 
up  to  my  own  fire  and  have  written  all  this,  and 


And  the  Red  Cross  83 

now  my  log  has  broken  and  rolled  down  on 
the  hearth  and  I  must  stop. 

Well,  we  always  said  little  children  make 
Christmas,  and  to-night  the  beauty  of  the  old 
winter  world  and  such  a  service  as  this  for 
little  children  has  brought  back  the  old  pre- 
cious meaning  of  the  Christmas  tide  and  the 
ugly  side  has  vanished  into  the  shadows  for  the 
moment. 


84! 


The  Children  of  France 


Christmas  night 


The  children  were  awake  early  this  morn- 
ing; you  could  hear  their  eager  voices  in  the 
distance.  The  first  thing  for  the  Christmas 
day  was  the  Mass  to  be  celebrated  in  the  beau- 
tiful chateau  Chapel.  The  old  cure  from  the 
village  was  the  celebrant  and  every  one  was 
welcome.  It  was  pretty  cold  in  the  little 
chapel,  but  all  the  well  children  were  warmly 
wrapped  up  in  their  winter  coats  and  sweaters, 
muflSers  and  mittens.  It  was  very  touching — 
their  joy  in  the  familiar  service — the  little 
homeless  children  loieeling  and  joining  so  beau- 
tifully in  the  service  they  knew  so  well,  and 
the  old  cure  with  his  tender  voice,  his  fine  face, 
his  proud  wearing  of  the  beautiful  vestments 
belonging  to  the  chateau.    Two  little  rapatrie 


And  the  Red  Cross  85 

iboys,  Lucien  and  Marcel,  who  had  been  altar 
boys  back  in  their  loved  village  before  this 
terrible  war,  helped  as  of  old.  They  wore  no 
robes,  just  their  winter  coats  and  mufflers,  but 
I  shall  never  forget  the  little  figures  kneeling 
close  to  the  old  cure  and  carrying  their  part 
of  the  service  through  with  such  earnest  dig- 
nity. It  must  have  made  them  feel  less  home- 
less. Some  of  us  knelt  in  the  gallery  above 
and  looked  down  upon  it  all — the  children,  the 
village  folk,  a  soldier  standing  at  the  back  look- 
ing at  the  altar  with  its  lighted  candles,  and 
over  it  all  the  tender  voice  of  the  old  cure.  I 
noticed  Yvonne;  her  sad  old  little  face  looked 
almost  happy,  and  she  did  not  look  so  pale. 

Then  came  breakfast,  which  happily  for  chil- 
dren in  France  on  Christmas  day  is  not  a  long 
meal,  and  then  the  tree.  Just  as  the  children 
reached  the  tree  all  lighted  and  filled  with  gifts, 
old  Santy,  the  real  genuine  American  Santa 
Claus,  came  rollicking  down  the  old  staircase, 
and  how  the  children  shouted:  "Bon  jour,  Pere 
Noel,  bon  jour,  Pere  Noel!"  He  was  a  won- 
derful "Pere  Noel."  He  shook  hands  with 
them  all;  he  hugged  them  all;  he  called  for  a 
song  and  four  tiny  boys  sang  with  a  will.    He 


86 TJie  'Children  of  France 

called  for  a  march  and  six  more  marched  and 
sang,  led  by  the  gay  old  gentleman  himself. 
Then  he  ordered  his  staff  to  unload  his  tree. 
He  settled  his  glasses  on  his  jolly  red  nose  with 
great  care  and  began  the  serious  business  of 
reading  French  names;  and  what  a  fuss  he 
made  about  each  little  gift  and  what  funny 
mistakes  he  made.  The  children  laughed  until 
they  cried,  and  so  did  the  rest  of  us.  The  am- 
bulance boys  guarded  the  candles  and  helped 
reach  for  the  toys,  and  presently  Santa  Claus 
vanished  up  the  stairway  with  the  gifts  for 
the  sick  children  in  a  pack  on  his  back  and 
Miss  A and  I  flew  along  with  him. 

Albert  and  Gaston  were  pretty  sick,  Albert 
too  sick  to  know,  so  we  just  tucked  his  toys 
in  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Gaston  stretched  out 
his  arms  for  the  doll,  but  no  smile. 

Jules  sits  on  a  chair,  helpless,  with  patient 
face,  sweet  smile  and  his  grave  brown  eyes. 
He  is  thirteen  and  alone.  His  father  was  killed 
in  the  war,  his  mother  held  by  the  Germans, 
and  he  is  completely  paralyzed.  He  was  so 
pleased  with  his  books.  If  he  had  not  been 
exposed  to  scarlet  fever  on  his  way  here,  he 


2 

< 


O  ^ 


.   Q 
<n   O 

U    CO 


Q    W 

u 


"  •     •      •         C)   V  4 


And  the  Red  Cross  87 

would  have  been  carried  downstairs  for  the 
tree. 

Madeleine,  a  tall  pale  child  of  eleven,  was 
so  happy  over  her  paint  box, — not  for  herself, 
oh  no,  but  for  her  little  brother  when  he  comes ; 
she  does  not  know  where  he  is.  She  has  had 
glands  in  her  throat  and  a  high  temperatuLre. 
Her  father  has  been  killed  in  the  war,  her 
mother  is  crazy  with  grief  and  hardship,  the 
little  brother  is  lost! 

Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  all  the  heart-breaking 
records  to-night,  it  would  make  too  sad  a  story 
and  the  day  has  been  full  of  joy  in  spite  of 
everything.  The  playroom  has  been  a  gay 
place  all  day.  At  luncheon  stern  old  Jean 
showed  he  liked  us  a  little.  There  was  a  won- 
derful basket  of  holly  and  mistletoe  from  the 
woods  in  the  Estate  on  the  table  and  in  the 
center  stood  a  little  American  flag.  How  we 
cheered!  Old  Jean  smiled  at  last,  just  a  grim 
flash  of  a  smile,  but  I  think  he  is  thawing  fast, 
for  our  dessert  was  a  wonderful  French  sweet 
— Christmas  logs  they  are  called — long  brown 
chocolate  rolls  with  wreaths  of  cream  festoon- 
ing them! 

So  it  has  been  a  beautiful,  strange  Christ- 


88  The  Children  of  France 

mas;  the  wonderful  winter  landscape — the 
snow  has  fallen  all  day — and  the  happy  chil- 
dren safe  and  warm  inside.  I  spent  the  bed- 
time hour  with  the  children  in  the  big  ward 
to-night  and  such  a  happy  chatter!  When 
they  were  all  in  their  beds  and  we  were  ready 
to  leave  them,  a  small  boy  near  me  said: 
*'Bonne  nuit,  Madame,"  and  held  out  his  arms. 
I  held  him  tight  for  a  moment  and  then  all 
down  the  long  shadowy  ward  from  each  little 
bed  came  the  call:  "Bonne  nuit,  Madame," 
and  twenty  pairs  of  arms  were  stretched  out 
to  me.  It  was  Christmas  night  and  they 
wanted  to  be  hugged  and  kissed.  Well,  I 
didn't  miss  any  and  I  am  probably  pretty 
germy,  but  it  was  the  best  of  the  day. 

We  have  had  another  evening  by  the  fire. 
The  wind  is  howling  around  the  chateau  and 
driving  the  snow  against  the  windows.    Mile. 

M told  us  tales  of  Brittany,  old  folks  tales 

and  legends.  England,  Rhodesia  and  fourteen 
American  States  were  represented  in  our  circle 
around  the  fire.    We  did  not  talk  of  home. 

As  I  came  to  my  room  a  little  while  ago, 
I  saw  one  of  our  ambulance  boys  come  softly 
out  of  the  room  where  little  Albert  is  fighting 


And  the  Red  Cross  89 

for  his  life.     Tears  were  in  his  eyes;  I  was 

glad  of  my  dim  pocket  light.    H is  a  big, 

fat,  lovable  boy  who  keeps  a  cigar  store  in  his 
home  town.  He  was  refused  by  the  army  for 
overweight.  He  works  like  a  slave  for  us, 
diets  hard  and  worships  the  children.  Albert 
is  his  special  pet. 

In  many  ways  it  is  most  difficult  to  believe 
that  this  is  Christmas  night,  it  is  all  so  strange 
and  different ;  but  in  all  the  big  warm  essential 
things  it  has  been  a  wonderful  day.  I  some- 
times think  the  American  Red  Cross  is  doing 
quite  as  much  for  the  workers  as  for  France. 


90  The  Children  of  France 


Chateau  des  Holies,  Ste.  Foy  VArgentiere, 

December  26,  1917 

Still  snowing.  The  hedgero^'^  of  yester- 
day have  vanished.  Early  this  morning  two 
oxen  strolled  by  with  a  snow-plow,  and  opened 
our  road  so  the  boys  could  get  the  cars  out  of 
the  garage  (Pierre's  greenhouse) .    Albert  has 

been  very  low  all  day.     Mathilde,  W 's 

favorite,  has  developed  scarlet  fever.  She  is 
a  tiny  scrap  of  a  girl,  six  years  old,  with  a  big 
gland  on  one  side  of  her  neck.  Her  father  is 
in  the  trenches  and  her  mother  is  dead.    But 

W from  Michigan  loves  her.     He  has 

taught  her  to  say,  "Good-morning,  Mon.  Ray- 
mond, I  lofe  you  verry  mush."  Luckily  she  has 
been  under  observation  since  her  arrival  so 
none  of  the  other  children  have  been  exposed. 
It  is  not  pleasant,  as  this  is  for  convalescent 


And  the  Red  Cross  91 

children,  but  until  we  get  a  hospital  in  Lyon, 
where  our  children  can  be  under  observation 
for  two  weeks  before  coming  to  us  out  here, 
this  is  liable  to  happen. 

Clothilde,  the  old  maid-servant,  had  such  a 

funny  bout  with  H this  morning.     Miss 

N sent  H for  some  dry  wood  for  the 

fireplace  in  the  room  of  one  of  the  nurses  who 
is  not  very  well.  He  was  gone  some  time. 
When  he  came  back  carrying  an  enormous  box 
of  dry  wood,  Clothilde  was  at  his  elbow  scold- 
ing and  protesting  as  fast  and  as  loud  as  she 

could.     H smiled   pleasantly:   "I   don't 

know  what  the  matter  is.  Miss  N .  Evi- 
dently I  have  done  something  Clothilde 
doesn't  like."  All  the  time  Clothilde  was 
shouting  in  French  that  that  was  her  own  par- 
ticular wood  that  Monsieur  Mangini  had 
given  her  before  he  died,  for  her  laundry 
stove,  and  that  Monsieur  H was  steal- 
ing it. 

All  the  while  H went  right  on  piling 

the  wood  on  the  fire  and  talking  sweetly  to 
Clothilde  in  English. 

* 'That's  all  right,  Clothilde;  I  know  you  are 
angry.    I  don't  mind  a  bit.    If  I  only  under- 


92 The  Children  of  France 

stood  what  you  said  I  could  do  something 
about  it,  but  I  don't,  so  there,  there," — ^pat- 
ting her  on  the  shoulder.  "You'll  get  over  it 
and  like  me  again."    And  before  we  stopped 

laughing  H had  Clothilde  smiling  and 

offering  to  get  him  a  cup  of  "chocolat." 

Really  H is  worth  his  full  weight  in 

gold.  He  never  does  anything  but  smile  and 
keep  perfectly  good-natured,  while  Jean  or 
Marie  or  Clothilde  rage  at  something  he  has 
done  and  he  talks  soothingly  in  English  and 

it  ends  in  their  doing  exactly  what  H 

wants.  I  can't  give  any  idea  of  how  adorably 
funny  he  is,  and  this  morning,  when  every  one 
was  blue  because  of  Albert  and  Mathilde,  the 
scene  over  the  wood  saved  us  all.     Clothilde 

simply  had  to  laugh  when  H patted  her 

nice  dry  wood  and  said:  "Now  you  know, 
Clothilde,  that's  tres  beaucoup"  (H pro- 
nounces it  trays  bowcups  always,  just  to  be 
funny)  and  it  was  too,  much  for  Clothilde;  she 
broke  into  a  giggle. 

This  morning  I  helped  with  the  baths.  Six 
at  a  time  get  their  scrubbings,  first  tub  and 
then  shower.  I  drew  Jacques-Henri,  eight 
years  old,  from  St.  Quentin,  father  a  prisoner. 


< 

H 
<< 


And  the  Bed  Cross  93 

mother  missing.  Jacques  has  a  bad  heart  and 
he  is  the  strangest  blue  color — it  is  most  diffi- 
cult to  determine  when  he  is  clean. 

This  afternoon  the  ambulance  went  to  the 
next  village  to  get  Albert's  mother.  She  ar- 
rived from  Evian  at  noon,  and  in  the  dark  and 
the  storm  it  was  difficult  to  find  her,  but  about 
five  o'clock  Burns  came  back  triumphant  with 
the  poor  frightened  mother.  She  herself  has 
been  sick  in  Evian  with  the  four  other  chil- 
dren. She  looked  haggard  and  worn  and  when 
she  stood  by  the  little  bed  she  said  nothing. 
Great  tears  rolled  down  her  face;  she  patted 
the  covers,  but  did  nothing  more.  The  nurse 
was  working  over  Albert,  his  big  dark  eyes 
looking  up  at  her  without  a  gleam  of  recogni- 
tion. 

In  such  moments  I  long  to  have  you  share, 
not  the  hardships  of  the  life  here,  for  there  are 
many — cold  for  instance.  The  furnace  broke 
down  for  our  side  of  the  chateau  over  a  week 
ago  and  the  cold  has  been  terrible  and  some 
are  suffering  badly  from  chilblains ;  the  wards 
are  warm  and  the  dining-room,  but  that  is  all. 
It  will  be  three  weeks  before  the  damage  is 
repaired,  and  in  the  meantime  water-pipes  are 


94  The  Children  of  France 

freezing.  No,  I  don't  want  you  even  to  think 
of  the  hardships,  but  I  long  to  have  you  see 
some  of  the  service  given  by  the  beloved 
A.  R.  C.  you  work  so  hard  for  at  home.  That 
scene  in  Albert's  room — the  warm,  beautiful 
room,  the  little  bed,  the  tiny  patient  so  tenderly 
and  splendidly  cared  for,  plenty  of  warm  blan- 
kets, clean  linen,  drugs,  a  competent,  devoted 
nurse,  and  the  good  doctor,  the  poor  pale 
mother  in  her  dark  shabby  clothes,  looking  at 
all  that  service  as  though  she  had  stepped  into 
a  dream-world,  and  oh,  the  gratefulness! 

Dr.  O had  told  her  that  Albert  was  a 

very  sick  baby;  she  knew  that,  and  yet  she 
looked  hungrily  at  the  little  face  and  said,  *'Oh, 
but  he  looks  so  nice;  his  eyes  look  so  fine." 
(They  had  been  very  sore  when  he  first  came.) 
"You  have  helped  him  so  much.  He  looks 
much  better  than  when  he  left  me  at  Evian. 
Surely  he  will  not  die." 

It  is  almost  midnight.  She  is  still  sitting 
there  by  the  bed,  her  figure  silhouetted  against 
the  window,  the  winter  moonlight  filling  the 
room.  She  wears  the  heavy  shawl  of  the  vil- 
lage woman,  and  no  head  covering.  Miss 
A wanted  her  to  go  to  bed,  she  is  so  tired, 


And  the  Red  Cross  95 

but  she  did  not  want  to  leave  Albert.  She 
has  been  crooning  a  little  French  lullaby  very, 

very  softly  and  Miss  A thinks  the  baby 

is  in  a  natural  sleep. 

I  seem  wide  awake.  I  can't  get  that  mother 
in  there  out  of  my  mind,  and  there  are  thou- 
sands of  them,  homeless  and  alone,  clinging 
to  their  children  and  trying  to  go  on.    Brave! 

Sometimes  you  seem  to  ache  with  all  the  suf- 
fering around  you.  One  of  our  helpers  here 
is  an  English  woman.  She  asked  our  Bureau 
in  Paris  to  give  her  work  among  the  children 
until  she  was  brave  enough  to  go  home.  She 
has  just  lost  her  husband  and  she  spent  three 
weeks  before  his  death  in  a  military  hospital 
just  back  of  the  lines.  She  is  still  a  bad 
sleeper,  and  we  have  been  talking  here  by  the 
fire.  I  don't  think  I  have  lived  through  more 
difficult  moments  than  during  her  attempt  to 
tell  me  the  sad  story,  the  fire  light  on  her  sad, 
strong  face,  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks, 
but  her  voice  steady.  "It  wasn't  my  own  suf- 
fering or  my  husband's  that  was  so  hard  to 
bear,  but  the  terrible  suffering  all  around  me," 
she  said;  "sixty  and  seventy  men  a  day  brought 
to  the  little  tent  hospital  like  logs;  the  bleed- 


96  The  Children  of  France 

ing  and  the  agony.  And  at  night  I  heard  men 
sob  like  children,  men  who  had  been  the  bravest 
and  the  most  cheerful  all  day."  And  yet  when 
I  said:  "Yes,  it  is  a  terrible  price,"  she  flashed 
back  at  me:  "Not  too  great  if  we  can  free  the 
world  of  the  power  that  planned  such  horrors." 

One  can't  say  much.  I  still  feel  we  have 
not  earned  a  right  even  to  offer  sympathy,  but 
she  knows  my  love  of  England  and  when  we 
talked  of  familiar  places  we  both  love,  I  think 
it  helped  a  little. 

I  have  been  down  the  hallway  again  to  Al- 
bert's room.     Miss  A says  he  is  better. 

The  present  crisis  is  over.  His  mother  is  sit- 
ting there  asleep  in  her  chair,  one  hand  clutch- 
ing the  blankets  of  the  little  bed  as  if  even  in 
her  sleep  Albert  must  not  lose  her  touch. 

I  feel  like  shouting.  Another  trench  held 
by  the  A.  R.  C.  against  the  enemy! 


And  the  Red  Cross  97 


Evian,  France j 
February  5,  1918 

It  has  been  a  wet  day,  cold  and  pouring  rain 
— just  about  the  worst  kind  of  a  day  for  these 
poor  homeless  people.  This  morning  as  that 
bedraggled  crowd  of  old  women  and  little  chil- 
dren, trying  to  protect  their  precious  bundles 
from  the  wet,  went  through  the  street,  it 
seemed  the  saddest  convoy  I  have  watched. 
Rain  can  be  so  cruel ;  it  seemed  to  increase  my 
wrath  at  the  Boche  to-day.  I  cannot  bear  to 
have  these  people  meet  anything  but  sunshine 
here.  The  first  group  that  attracted  my  atten- 
tion was  of  five  children,  such  nice  looking 
children  all  clinging  together  in  a  frightened 
kind  of  way,  without  any  older  person  along; 
so  I  joined  them  and  that  little  group  has  filled 
the  day  for  me. 

Oh,  if  I  can  only  give  you  a  picture  of  this 


The  Children  of  France 


little  family.  The  oldest  is  Cyr,  a  boy  of  six- 
teen, a  tall  delicate  looking  lad,  with  big  deep 
wistful  eyes,  and  a  sense  of  responsibility  for 
the  other  four  children  that  makes  you  ache. 

The  oldest  girl,  Victoire,  is  fourteen  years 
old,  and  of  all  little  mothers  you  have  ever 
seen  she  was  the  most  real.  She  held  tight  to 
Jean-Bap tiste,  a  pale  little  four-year-old  boy, 
with  shining  yellow  hair  and  dark  eyes,  quite 
the  lord  and  master  of  the  children  who  adore 
him. 

Then  came  Juliette,  a  little  elf -like  creature 
of  nine,  and  Louis,  a  seven-year-old,  who  is 
coughing  his  head  off  with  whooping  cough. 
Cyr  told  me  the  story  after  they  were  all  safely 
in  our  hospital.  They  come  from  Clay-le- 
Chateau,  not  far  from  Lens.  Their  father  is 
in  the  trenches  and  they  have  not  heard  from 
him  for  two  years.  Their  mother  was  killed 
before  their  eyes  on  January  24,  1916.  They 
were  all  in  the  cave  under  their  house  while 
the  shelling  was  going  on  and  the  little  maid- 
servant had  not  come  down,  so  mother  went  up 
the  ladder  to  find  her,  Cyr  said,  and  just  as 
she  reached  the  top  she  was  struck  and  her 
body  fell  back  into  the  cave  before  the  children. 


And  the  Red  Cross  99 

He  told  the  story  quite  simply,  with  a  dull 
sort  of  ache  in  his  voice  and  a  matter  of  f  act- 
ness  I  can  never  forget.  You  can't  ask  ques- 
tions of  these  poor  children,  but  I  gather  they 
have  been  in  well-to-do  circumstances.  Vic- 
toire  asked  me  if  I  ever  used  an  electric  iron, 
saying  they  had  one  at  home,  and  they  speak 
of  maid  and  nurse.  It  all  makes  it  more 
poignant  to  me  in  many  ways,  what  that  poor 
man  in  the  trenches  is  thinking,  the  agony  of 
not  knowing  what  has  become  of  his  family. 
The  effort  to  communicate  with  him  began  this 
afternoon.  The  children  are  so  eager  to  be 
claimed. 

They  have  heard  a  great  deal  from  people 
on  the  train  about  being  claimed  at  Evian,  and 
Victoire  said  to  me  with  tears  standing  deep 
in  her  blue  eyes:  "We  belong  to  father,  and 
mother  said,  if  we  ever  got  here,  we  would 
surely  find  him." 

Fortunately  Cyr  knew  the  regiment  and 
company,  and  we  have  every  hope  of  finding 
him  if  he  is  alive. 

Little  Jean-Baptiste  is  in  the  worst  condi- 
tion in  many  ways.  He  was  born  in  April, 
1914,  and  he  has  a  bad  heart.    Victoire  says 


100  The  Children  of  France 

he  has  just  had  chicken-pox.  Altogether  the 
little  fellow  is  in  very  poor  condition.  Vic- 
toire  herself  is  just  "nerves"  and  has  been  ex- 
posed of  course  to  the  chicken-pox  and  whoop- 
ing cough.    Juliette  has  the  chicken-pox  now. 

The  one  joy  in  their  hearts  to-night  is  that 
they  are  all  together.  Poor  little  Victoire  was 
so  afraid  she  would  be  left  out  because  she  was 
not  actually  sick  at  present. 

These  children  need  a  month  or  so  at  the 
Red  Cross  Convalescent  Hospital  at  that 
lovely  Chateau  des  Halles.  They  are  the  kind 
that  will  respond  to  all  the  beauty  of  it,  and 
Cyr  needs  it  so.  I  don't  know  whether  he  is 
tubercular  or  not,  but  he  looks  so  delicate.  He 
says  his  oldest  brother  is  a  prisoner  in  Flan- 
ders, and  that  his  mother  was  eager  to  hear 
from  him.  Cyr  asked  me  if  I  thought  he  could 
find  a  way  of  communicating  with  his  brother. 

That  is  what  has  impressed  me  so  deeply 
about  this  family.  They  all  seem  to  have  just 
one  desire — to  do  all  the  things  their  mother 
had  talked  to  them  about  before  she  was  killed 
over  a  year  ago.  They  have  clung  together, 
living  in  the  cellar  of  their  home  and  then  in 
other  people's  cellars  as  the  line  moved  back. 


And  the  Red  Cross  101 

and  probably  going  through  one  terror  after 
another;  and  yet  they  have  come  back  filled 
with  what  mother  wanted  them  to  do.  The 
record  Cyr  gave  says  the  father's  name  is  Jean- 
Baptiste  and  the  mother  was  Hortense,  thirty- 
five  years  old,  when  the  bomb  ended  it  all  and 
her  brave  body  rolled  back  into  the  cave  be- 
fore her  children. 

Oh,  I  hope  the  miracles  are  happening  and 
that  somehow  that  brave  soul  knows  her  chil- 
dren are  safe  to-night  in  this  big  splendid  hos- 
pital. As  for  the  father,  I  suppose  it  is  too 
much  to  ask  to  have  him  alive  and  well.  I  think 
Cyr  is  hopeless,  but  Victoire  thinks  "father  will 
answer."  I  sided  with  Victoire  just  to  encour- 
age Cyr,  but  when  I  think  of  the  two  years 
that  have  passed  since  they  have  had  any  word 
from  him,  my  belief  in  miracles  becomes  very 
tense — I  don't  know! 

Well,  there  have  been  dozens  of  other  chil- 
dren to-day,  but  I  haven't  time  to  record  them 
all.  This  family  the  nurses  took  particular 
interest  in,  and  let  me  trail  around  and  be  close 
to  them  to-day,  and  I  think  I  can  help  the 
time  pass  until  the  answer  comes  from  "fa- 
ther," if  it  comes. 


102  The  Children  of  France 


Evian,  France j 
February  6,  1918 

My  little  family  have  been  very  quiet  all  day 
from  exhaustion,  the  reaction  after  the  excite- 
ment of  yesterday.  Victoire  has  the  chicken- 
pox  to-night  and  she  is  delighted.  She  seems 
to  think  it  settles  her  securely  in  the  hospital; 
but  they  have  slept  most  of  the  time,  Cyr,  as 
though  he  had  not  really  slept  for  weeks.  He 
feels  that  the  children  are  safe  and  he  can  for- 
get for  a  time.  We  told  them  it  might  be  a 
week  or  two  before  they  hear  from  their  fa- 
ther, so  they  did  not  expect  anything  to-day, 
although  Cyr  asked  the  question  when  he  woke 
up  late  this  afternoon.  I  find  myself  so  in- 
tense about  it,  I  feel  that  a  father  has  just  got 
to  be  produced. 

It  is  still  raining  and  both  convoys  have  been 


And  the  Red  Cross  103 

crowded,  about  seven  hundred  and  fifty  in 
each.  Our  hospital  has  received  twenty-eight 
contagious  cases  to-day  and  the  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  beds  are  full  to-night. 

But  I  am  all  "wrought  up,"  as  Martha  used 
to  say,  about  the  most  distressing  bit  of  trag- 
edy I  have  witnessed  in  any  of  my  trips  to 
Evian.  We  have  to-night  in  the  babies'  room 
on  the  non-contagious  floor  of  the  building, 
four  Boche  babies  abandoned  by  their  moth- 
ers to-day.  Oh,  I  have  had  a  lot  of  theories 
about  this  particular  wretchedness,  but  I  am 
in  one  big  muddle  about  it  all  to-night.  I  saw 
those  mothers  and  I  can't  blame  one  of  them 
for  leaving  these  children  behind.  All  four  of 
the  women  found  letters  here  from  their  soldier 
husbands,  eagerly  waiting  for  their  return. 

One  woman  said,  "How  can  I  go  to  him 
with  this  Boche  child?"  That  was  Madeleine's 
mother;  Madeleine  is  a  year  old,  a  poorly  de- 
veloped little  creature  with  a  club  foot.  "If 
only  she  were  pretty!"  The  poor  mother  wept 
her  heart  out,  came  back  three  or  four  times 
to  change  her  mind  about  leaving  the  little 
thing,  but  at  last  went  oif .  She  was  a  gentle 
dark-eyed  young  woman  of  about  thirty,  I 


104  The  Children  of  France 

should  say.  Her  two  children  had  died  the 
first  year  of  the  war.  She  couldn't  take  that 
child  to  her  people,  and  she  couldn't  bear  to 
leave  it  alone.  It  was  the  crudest  struggle 
you  can  imagine,  and  you  felt  so  helpless; 
there  was  nothing  you  could  say  or  do. 

Isabelle  is  ten  months  old,  poorly  nourished, 
but  a  rather  nice,  fair  little  baby.  Her  moth- 
er's face  was  like  a  stone;  it  expressed  noth- 
ing. She  was  perfectly  silent  and  calm.  The 
baby  showed  care  and  niceness  in  its  clothing 
and  clung  to  its  mother.  She  was  gentle  with 
it  but  firm.  You  felt  that  her  decision  had 
been  made  long  ago,  back  perhaps  in  her  lovely 
village  of  Revin  in  the  Ardennes,  and  that 
nothing  could  move  her  now.  I  noticed  when 
she  consented  to  leaving  an  address,  she  took 
her  husband's  letter  she  had  just  received  from 
next  her  heart.  It  may  be,  with  her  blouse 
open  at  the  throat,  that  was  an  easy  place  to 
carry  it  safely,  but  her  eyes  as  she  turned  the 
pages  and  the  deep  red  that  went  over  her 
dark  stony  face,  made  me  feel  that  the  in- 
tensity of  her  feeling  for  her  fighting  man,  who 
was  alive  and  waiting  for  her,  far  outweighed 
the  claims  of  this  child  she  had  brought  in. 


And  the  Red  Cross  105 

Eugenie  is  a  scrap  of  five  months,  with  a 
strange  deformity  of  head;  and  the  fourth  is 
the  only  boy,  Robert,  four  months  old,  with 
bad,  discharging  eyes,  both  too  young  and  too 
strange  looking  to  have  won  much  of  a  place 
in  their  mothers'  hearts. 

Eugenie's  mother  said:  "I  am  sorry,  but  I 
cannot  take  her.  She  is  saved,  though ;  she  has 
been  baptized  Catholic." 

We  found  they  had  all  been  baptized  Cath- 
olic.    Strange!  isn't  it? 

It  isn't  just  the  fact  of  illegitimacy.  It's  the 
awful  bitterness  and  hatred  that  is  behind  such 
scenes.  I  look  at  the  poor  babies,  who  are  so 
helpless  and  pathetic,  and  I  think  I  have  never 
seen  anything  more  shocking;  but,  oh,  the 
mothers!  That  any  human  being  has  been 
forced  into  such  a  hideous  struggle,  is  what  is 
so  hard  to  bear.  And  there  you  are.  But  one 
great  big  fact  remains  clear,  that  the  power 
that  brought  this  on  a  peaceful  world  has  got 
to  be  crushed,  now.  ... 

Later. 

I  was  interrupted  just  here,  and  in  the  mean- 
time I  have  seen  another  tragedy,  worse  than 


106  The  Children  of  France 

all  the  rest — a  mother,  practically  dying  of 
tuberculosis,  with  four  children  clinging  to  her; 
Laure,  a  pale  girl  of  eight;  Albert,  five  years 
old;  Albertina,  four  years  old,  and  a  baby, 
fifteen  months  old.  Laure  explained  that  this 
little  Jules  was  her  mother's  baby,  not  her 
brother,  but  a  Boche.  The  quiet  scorn  of  that 
eight-year-old  girl  cut  you  like  a  knife.  The 
poor  mother,  only  twenty-eight  years  old,  is 
the  saddest  victim  I  have  seen.  She  has  been 
sent  to  the  tuberculosis  hospital  at  Thonon, 
and  the  children  are  here,  as  the  baby  has  the 
measles  and  is  tubercular  and  little  Albertina's 
card  is  marked  "Suspicious  T.  B."  They  were 
brought  to  the  A,  R.  C.  hospital. 

This  is  a  night  when  I  am  in  perfect  sym- 
pathy with  our  p^ldiers,  who  are  so  eager  for 
hand-to-hand  encounters  that,  unless  watched, 
they  throw  discretion  to  the  winds.  As  I  came 
back  to  my  room  something  happened  to  make 
it  possible  to  go  on. 

I  peeked  in  at  Jean-Baptiste.  He  knows 
three   prayers   by  heart   which   Victoire   has 

taught  him.    He  was  kneeling  in  Miss  A 's 

lap  with  his  arms  tight  around  her  neck  saying 
them,  and  the  little  rascal  was  making  it  just 


And  the  Red  Cross  107 

as  long  a  ceremony  as  possible,  with  intermin- 
able entr'acts.  Victoire  from  behind  the  iso- 
lation curtain  was  trying  to  hurry  him,  but 
to  no  avail.  If  you  could  see  the  nurse  you 
wouldn't  blame  Jean-Baptiste.  I  love  to  think 
that  thousands  of  these  poor  kiddies  are  going 
to  have  stowed  away  in  the  happy  side  of  their 
memory  boxes  the  love  and  devotion  of  our 
American  Red  Cross  nurses. 

After  you  finish  reading  this,  won't  you  just 
hug  blessed  Joey  and  David  kind  of  especially 
for  me.  I  have  seen  so  many  little  chaps  just 
their  ages  to-day.  To  be  four  years  old,  to 
be  six  years  old,  and  alone,  "Mother  killed  by 
bomb,  father  in  the  trenches";  the  hundreds  of 
cards  on  which  it  says  that,  catalogued  in  this 
little  town  here  to-day,  must  be  answered  by 
the  whole  civilized  world. 


108  The  Children  of  France 


Evian,  France, 
February  7,  1918 

Thank  goodness,  the  sun  came  out  to-day  1 
I  was  so  depressed  last  night,  as  you  know, 
that  I  was  a  dangerous  member  of  the  com- 
munity. But  the  warm  sunshine  and  the  fun 
of  taking  some  of  the  children  out  on  the  sun 
porch  cheered  me  up.  I  stayed  away  from  the 
convoys  to-day.  I  felt  I  was  too  full  to  wit- 
ness any  more  and  remain  tiseful. 

The  children  love  the  sunny  roof  from  which 
they  look  down  on  the  lake  and  across  to 
Lausanne  and  the  high  mountains  to  the  south- 
east. We  took  Andre  out  first.  He  is  a  most 
bewitching  little  chap  of  three  and  a  half, 
whom  nothing  can  kill  apparently.  He  has 
had  whooping  cough,  chicken-pox  and  measles, 
and  still  smiles.    His  mother  is  held  a  prisoner 


And  the  Bed  Cross  109 

by  the  Germans  in  Lieburg;  his  father  has  been 
killed.  He  came  through  all  carefully  labeled 
to  be  delivered  to  his  aunt,  but  she  can't  be 
found  as  yet,  so  Andre  continues  to  be  spoiled 
by  the  nurses.  But  he  is  so  sweet  and  so  jolly 
that  he  is  a  tonic  to  the  others. 

This  morning  he  pranced  around  making 
faces  and  doing  his  best  to  make  dear  Fernand 
laugh.  Fernand  is  fourteen  years  old;  he 
comes  from  Belgium,  where  his  father  is  a 
prisoner;  his  mother  was  killed  in  1914.  The 
boy  has  a  bad  heart  and  an  infected  foot.  He 
brought  just  one  connection  out  and  that  was 
his  brother  serving  in  the  Belgian  Army. 
This  brother  had  been  written  to,  and  only  yes- 
terday the  letter  from  his  commandant  came  in- 
forming us  that  L had  "died  for  France 

in  the  battle  of  Bois  St.  Mard,  October  1914." 

Fernand  has  said  nothing — just  holds  the 
precious  paper  in  his  hand,  and  occasionally 
screws  his  face  down  into  his  pillows.  So  we 
are  glad  of  Andre's  pranks. 

I  think  Fernand  will  make  friends  with 
Felix;  he  is  just  about  the  same  age,  with  the 
same  tragedy — father  died  at  Mons,  his  mother 
killed  by  a  bomb  in  Lievin  when  walking  along 


110  The  Children  of  France 

the  street  with  Fehx.  Felix  has  a  bad  heart, 
and  looks  so  sort  of  knocked  out  by  life. 

I  don't  see  how  the  lads  survive  such  shocks. 
I  should  think  the  future  medical  specialty- 
would  be  hearts — broken,  smashed,  bleeding 
hearts  to  be  mended  out  of  the  wreck  of  this 
awful  war. 

I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  another  star 
performer  we  have  here  named  Mathilda 
Zonella.  She  is  six  years  old  and  has  a  gen- 
erous supply  of  T.  B.  glands.  She  has  been 
in  isolation  with  Eugene,  aged  seven,  who  has 
rickets  and  is  dull  and  shuffles  about.  But  he 
adores  Mathilda  and  she  bosses  him  around  as 
she  does  everybody.  Some  days  she  won't  no- 
tice him  at  all  and  then  he  is  very  sad,  but  still 
adores  her.  She  is  a  little  queen.  We  don't 
know  anything  about  her,  but  her  name  and 
the  written  instructions  on  a  card  around  her 
neck,  "Please  keep  her  safe,"  and  the  moth- 
er's name  and  the  town  she  sent  the  child  from. 
Evidently  Mathilda  is  some  one  very  precious 
— she  certainly  acts  the  part.  This  morning 
on  the  roof  she  pulled  her  chair  quite  apart 
from  the  rest  of  us  and  sat  there  rocking  and 
singing  to  the  Teddy  bear  she  loves,  and  at 


ALL    POSED    FOR    HER    PICTURE.       LITTLE    GIRL    OF    THE    "eCOLE     MATER- 

NELLE"     WHERE     THE      AMERICAN      RED      CROSS      PROVIDES     FOOD     TO 

SUPPLEMENT    THE    LUNCH    OF    THE    SCHOOL    CANTEEN 


And  the  Red  Cross  111 

every  laugh  from  the  rest  looked  most  disap- 
provingly at  us,  but  said  nothing.  It  was 
really  too  ridiculous  for  words,  to  see  her. 

While  we  were  out  there  we  had  a  great 
excitement  for  Solange.  Do  you  remember 
the  little  nine-year-old  girl  I  told  you  about, 
who  had  lost  her  mother  in  the  flight  from  Lille 
and  who  had  not  seen  her  father  since  the  war 
began?  Well,  he  came  while  we  were  sitting 
there  in  the  sun.  Just  another  miracle.  He 
walked  right  out  on  the  porch  unannounced, 
and  I  was  thankful  Solange  was  not  a  heart 
case  or  she  would  have  died  of  joy.  After 
he  had  held  Solange  tight  in  his  arms  for  about 
an  hour,  it  was  very  sweet  to  see  this  French 
poilu  go  out  shyly  to  the  other  children.  He 
sensed  their  tragedies  and  you  felt  he  was  do- 
ing a  lovely  bit  of  fathering  for  some  unknown 
comrades.  He  talked  to  Fernand  and  Felix 
quite  as  he  would  to  soldiers  and  you  could  see 
the  boys  bracing  up  under  his  kindness. 

He  had  received  the  letter  about  Solange 
just  when  his  permission  was  due,  so  he  had 
come  at  once.  He  told  me  he  would  wait  here 
his  full  time  in  hopes  that  his  wife  may  come 
through.     Then  he  is  willing  we  should  send 


112  The  Children  of  France 

Solange  to  the  Chateau  des  Halles  to  be  made 
strong  and  well.  He  was  most  touchingly 
grateful.  He  kept  saying:  "You  Americans 
are  doing  this  for  our  children?  How  splen- 
did!   I  did  not  know." 

Late  this  afternoon  another  glad  and  sad 
thing  happened.  The  father  of  another  family 
here  of  three,  Marie,  three  and  a  half  years 
old,  Jules,  five,  and  Kruger,  seven,  came  hur- 
rying into  the  hospital.  Kruger  was  the  only 
one  who  seemed'  to  know  him ;  they  had  not 
seen  him  for  three  years,  and  the  younger  ones 
did  not  remember  him,  of  course.  That  man's 
joy  over  finding  them — ^he  had  come  of  his 
own  volition  just  to  see  if  his  children  and  wife 
had  come  through — and  his  grief  over  the  rec- 
ord Kruger's  card  showed,  that  the  mother  had 
died  three  months  ago  in  the  hospital  at  Saint 
Quentin,  was  really  the  most  pitiable  strug- 
gle I  have  ever  seen.  He  just  hugged  those 
children  close,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
face,  and  then  when  he  saw  that  was  fright- 
ening them,  he  would  try  to  laugh  and  brush 
away  the  tears  and  talk  to  them  cheerfully. 

So  our  sun  porch  this  morning  had  many 
aspects,  sad  and  glad.     I  shall  hate  to  leave 


And  the  Red  Cross  113 

to-morrow.  I  am  going  over  to  the  A.  R.  C. 
Convalescent  Hospital  near  Lyon,  dear  Cha- 
teau des  Halles.  We  have  one  hundred  and 
seven  children  there  getting  well  and  rested. 
Gabrielle  is  making  me  an  Easter  card,  cross 
stitched  "Happy  Easter,"  Evian,  and  then  her 
name.  You  remember  she  is  the  little  girl  of 
seven  who  lost  her  left  eye  in  a  bombardment. 
What  would  this  old  world  do  without  these 
youngsters  who  cling  to  life  with  the  tenacity 
of  surgeon's  plaster? 

P.  S. — I  found  Irene  crying  in  her  small  bed 
as  I  put  my  head  in  to  say  good-night.  Irene 
is  eight  years  old;  her  father  was  killed  in 
1914;  her  mother  died  of  tuberculosis  in  1917. 
Irene  was  crying  because  the  boy  in  the  next 
bed  had  said  she  was  an  orphan.  She  says  she 
isnt  an  orphan,  she  has  a  sister.  Bless  her 
heart! 


114  The  Children  of  France 


Somewhere  in  France, 
February  — ,  1918 

Some  day  you  can  know  "where"  and 
"when" — for  the  present  all  I  can  give  is  the 
"what"  of  this  thrilling  experience.  The  real- 
ness  and  the  unrealness  of  this  war  world  are 
inextricably  bound  up  together.  The  crowds 
of  tired  poilus  asleep  on  the  station  platforms 
as  we  left  Paris  are  very  real.  One  tall  fine 
looking  French  gentleman  was  saying  good-by 
to  his  son  quite  close  to  our  compartment  win- 
dow this  morning.  Over  and  over  again  he 
kissed  that  young  officer  of  his  good-by,  on 
both  cheeks,  then  stood  with  his  arm  around 
him  until  the  train  started  and  the  young  fel- 
low jumped  on  to  the  moving  carriage.  That 
father's  face  seemed  to  start  us  off  with  a  sense 
of  the  great  reality,  the  nearness  of  Death. 


And  the  Red  Cros^  115 

You  knew  by  the  mourning  bands  on  the  fa- 
ther's sleeve  that  he  had  already  given  ofc  his 
own.  He  saw  only  the  boy  those  few  mofnents 
there.  I  can  never  forget  the  agony  of  that 
good-by.  These  French  fathers  have  an  in- 
tensity about  their  sons  this  fourth  year  of 
the  war  that  seems  to  wither  you;  the  ache  of 
it  all! 

It's  a  beautiful  valley,  the  valley  of  the 
Marne,  and  if  one  did  not  constantly  see  the 
black  crosses  along  the  roads  and  in  the  fields 
one  could  never  connect  it  with  war.  Those 
crosses  are  so  real;  the  artificial  wreath  of 
flowers,  loved  by  the  French,  hangs  on  the 
crosses,  the  only  unreal  touch.  To  many  I  saw 
a  little  pathway  worn  and  fresh  flowers  on  the 
ground.  The  little  village  gardens  are  begin- 
ning to  be  green  again.  Constantly  as  we 
passed  slowly  along,  a  real  American  smile 
greeted  us,  a  wave  of  the  hand,  a  cheer  from 
a  group  of  khaki-clad,  broad-hatted  soldiers 
who  recognized  our  American  "Hello." 

I  can't  believe  it,  my  dear,  that  our  troops 
are  here  in  France,  thousands  of  them,  settling 
down  into  the  soldier's  life.  You  have  seen 
them  march  away  from  American  towns,  I 


116 The  Children  of  France 

have  been  here  too  long  for  that.  I  just  sud- 
denly find  them  crowding  station  platforms, 
pouring  down  village  streets  in  France,  and 
I  am  a  foolish  old  goose  about  it.  Things  get 
blurry  and  I  have  a  perfectly  absurd  sense 
of  personal  possession.  I  respect  officers' 
"Reserves,"  but  no  mere  private  escapes  me. 
I  ask  him  his  name  and  home  address  and  write 
his  mother  that  I  have  seen  her  boy  and  that 
he  looks  happy  and  well — perfectly  sentimen- 
tal, I  know,  and  I  can't  explain  why  I  do  it, 
but  I  am  getting  some  wonderful  "thank 
you's"  from  home.  We  American  Red  Cross 
women  here  of  respectable  age  ought  to  mother 
these  American  boys,  don't  you  think  so? 

I  longed  to  get  oflF  the  train  this  morning 
at  every  stop,  but  we  had  to  content  ourselves 
with  hand  shakes  through  the  windows.    We 

reached  T at  two  o'clock.    It  has  been  a 

brilliant  day,  warm  sunshine  and  blue  sky. 
The  station  was  crowded  with  soldiers;  there 
was  the  noise  and  hum  of  voices,  the  buzz  of 
aeroplanes  overhead,  the  busy  life  of  the  town 
going  on  as  usual,  and  the  distant  sound  of 
guns,  just  about  as  unreal,  then,  as  the  arti- 
ficial wreaths  along  the  road. 


And  the  Red  Cross  117 

We  went  down  the  winding  street  across 
an  ancient  drawbridge  to  the  town,  and 
close  by  the  square  we  found  the  funny  little 
hotel  crowded  with  officers,  ambulance  men, 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  men,  and  nurses  here  and  there. 
It  could  not  be  war ;  it  seemed  impossible.  We 
found  some  rooms  and  left  our  bags  and 
started  off  to  see  our  Red  Cross  hospital  for 
children  here  which  we   started  in  August, 

1917,    in    connection    with    Prefet    M- 's 

refugee  home  for  the  children  of  these  poor 
little  gassed  villages  in  this  lovely  country. 

Naughty  boys  and  girls  of  the  War  Zone 
who  won't  wear  their  gas  masks,  or  are  too 
little^  are  collected  into  these  refugee  cen- 
ters, and  the  need  of  a  hospital  for  them  was 
so  great  that  it  was  the  first  one  our  Children's 
Bureau  started  six  months  ago. 

Just  as  we  were  getting  into  the  ambulance 
to  drive  the  two  miles  to  the  hospital,  the  siren 
began  blowing  and  every  one  rushed  into  the 
streets  to  watch  the  big  German  taube  sailing 
in  the  blue  sky  overhead,  with  a  dozen  little 
puffs  of  smoke  breaking  all  around  it  like  wads 
of  cotton.  That  siren  meant  we  were  all  to 
get  out  of  the  streets  so  as  not  to  be  struck  by 


118 The  Children  of  France 

flying  pieces  of  shrapnel,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
to  have  just  the  opposite  effect.  I  found  my- 
self calmly  watching  the  fight  as  though  it  were 
quite  detached  from  anything  on  earth. 

We  waited  a  while  until  the  big  taube  sailed 
away  and  we  went  off  across  the  river  be- 
tween the  two  forts,  to  the  hilltop  where  the 
hospital  and  refugees  are. 

It  is  a  wonderful  location,  an  old  army  bar- 
racks converted  into  a  home  for  four  hundred 
and  eighty  children  and  about  fifty  mothers, 
and  a  hospital  of  ninety-five  beds  for  the  use 
of  the  whole  district.  The  children  were  all 
out  in  the  sunshine  having  their  bread  and 
chocolate.  As  the  hilltop  is  between  the  two 
forts,  the  shelling  goes  on  daily  and  the  chil- 
dren have  to  be  kept  inside  out  of  the  way  while 
the  air  fights  go  on.  We  have  made  it  plain  to 
the  Germans  that  this  is  a  hospital  for  children, 
but  who  can  tell?  Why  hesitate  to  bomb  the 
children  when  you  have  already  attempted  to 
gas  them?  Oh,  this  mad  psychology  of  the 
German  military  staff  1 

I  was  much  interested  in  two  groups  of  chil- 
dren, those  who  had  been  there  since  August 
and  those  who  had  just  come.    I  felt  a  big  Red 


And  the  Red  Cross  119 

Cross  pride  in  the  first  group,  the  children 
looked  so  well  and  happy  and  clean ;  the  others 
looked  pale  and  frightened,  bearing  the  marks 
of  the  inevitable  filth  diseases.  The  delousing 
clinic  is  still  a  thriving  part  of  the  institution. 
These  children  here  seem  worse  than  those 
who  come  through  Evian.  I  have  a  new  re- 
spect for  a  louse — I  had  no  idea  what  mischief 
just  one  can  do  if  left  to  roam  about  the  hu- 
man head.  I  saw  this  afternoon  some  of  the 
most  awful  sores  and  ulcers  on  heads  and  necks 
of  these  newly  arrived  children. 

One  small  boy,  Henri,  has  lost  one  eye  in 
the  bombing  of  his  village.  One  of  the  nurses 
told  me  that  he  is  the  naughtiest  little  rascal 
about  the  air  fights;  he  wants  to  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  barrack  square  and  watch  it  all. 
We  have  a  detail  of  soldiers  who  guard  us  up 
there,  giving  the  alarms  and  getting  the  chil- 
dren under  cover  as  quickly  as  possible. 

I  talked  with  one  little  woman  whose  only 
child  has  been  very  sick  with  pneumonia  in  the 
Red  Cross  hospital  here.  She  has  a  small  farm 
up  near  the  line.  It's  spring  almost ;  she  wants 
to  prepare  her  ground.  The  Germans  bomb 
her  if  she  works  in  the  daytime,  and  at  night 


120  The  Children  of  France 

they  throw  gas  bombs,  but  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders:  "Je  me  fiche  d'eux,  je  mets  un 
masque  et  travaille  dans  Tobscurite"  (I  fool 
them,  I  wear  a  mask  and  work  in  the  dark). 
Yes,  she  goes  the  six  kilometers  at  night  and 
carries  on  the  work  of  her  little  farm.  I  had 
the  feeling  as  I  stood  there  in  the  sunshine 
listening  to  that  little  French  woman,  that  to 
be  able  to  care  for  her  one  small  boy  was  worth 
the  whole  Red  Cross  hospital.  I  rather  like 
the  idea  that  the  American  Red  Cross  kept 
the  son  of  such  a  mother  alive,  don't  you? 

We  came  back  to  T just  at  sunset.     It 

was  almost  warm ;  the  smell  of  earth  was  every- 
where and  I  had  to  talk  vigorously  with  Mack 
about  carburetors,  of  which  I  know  nothing, 
to  keep  the  thoughts  of  early  spring  at  home 
out  of  my  mind. 

As  it  grew  dark  the  town  seemed  to  have 
doubled  its  population,  soldiers,  soldiers  every- 
where, and  for  the  first  time  to-day  no  distant 
guns — a  rather  ominous  silence. 

The  siren  sounded  all  through  the  dinner 
hour  to-night,  but  no  one  noticed.  I  saw  a 
man  move  a  little  away  from  the  window,  that 
was  all.    If  the  church  bells  ring,  we  have  been 


And  the  Red  Cross  121 

told  to  go  to  the  caves  in  the  cellar  here.  I 
keep  wondering  whether  I'd  rather  dodge  in 
the  open  and  run  the  chances  or  sit  in  a  dark 
cave  expecting  to  be  buried  alive  any  moment. 

After  dinner  all  was  quiet  for  a  time.  B 

and  I  walked  out  into  the  little  street  to  the 
fountain  in  the  square,  but  it  was  so  crowded 
with  soldiers  of  all  colors  we  came  back  to  sit 
in  the  restaurant  and  write  up  the  inspection 
reports  by  the  dimmest  of  lights. 

It  is  difficult  to  do,  there  is  so  much  going 
on.  The  waiter  sends  many  drinks  to  the  side- 
walk tables  just  outside  and  we  hear  the  chat- 
ter of  the  soldiers,  the  rumble  of  the  machines 
on  the  cobble  stones,  the  laughter  of  children 
passing.  It  is  a  strange  hour.  Finally  the  big 
iron  shutters  have  been  slammed  down  and  the 
street  door  closed.  The  officers  still  laugh  and 
talk  in  the  back  room;  two  hungry  cats  dash 
madly  about  looking  for  food.  Our  proprie- 
tress, Madame  X ,  leans  on  the  counter 

and  talks  to  her  pretty  daughter.  A  tired- 
looking  little  boy  washes  glasses  behind  the 
bar.  Slowly  the  men  are  going  out,  some  qui- 
etly, some  noisily.  The  pretty  dark-eyed 
daughter  gets  many  salutes  1 


122 The  Children  of  France 

Later. 

No,  not  a  bomb,  but  some  music — the  sound 
of  a  drum  roll!  We  rushed  out  into  the  black 
street  to  see.  It  was  just  seething  with  sol- 
diers pouring  out  of  the  little  theater  next 
door.  We  asked  the  bar  boy  and  he  said  these 
are  Moroccan  troops  *'on  repose  here."  They 
have  suffered  heavy  losses  and  the  town  had 
given  them  a  "theater  party"  as  reward  for 
good  fighting.  It  was  a  weird  scene ;  the  flash 
of  pocket  lights  lighting  up  an  occasional  dark 
face  with  red  fez  above,  the  strange  cries,  the 
calling  of  numbers.  For  half  an  hour  the 
street  rang  with  calls  and  voices,  little  lights 
twinkling,  people  leaning  from  house  win- 
dows, and  finally  in  the  dark  the  regiment 
formed  and  marched  away  with  bugle  and 
drum.  I  came  up  here  to  my  room  to  the  little 
balcony  to  look  down  upon  the  bedlam.  It  was 
unbelievable  in  its  strange  significance.  I  have 
come  back  to  the  restaurant  to  tell  you  this. 
The  chef  and  his  assistants  are  now  having 
their  evening  meal.  It  is  ten-thirty.  The 
street  outside  is  quiet.  I  think  we  will  get 
some  sleep  before  guns  begin,  A  strange 
world  I 


And  the  Red  Cross  123 


Somewhere  in  France, 
February  — ,  1918 

We  did  have  a  good  night  last  night.  I 
heard  the  siren  several  times,  but  it  was  quiet 
otherwise.  To-day  has  been  full  of  all  kinds 
of  impressions.  This  busy  little  war  town  fas- 
cinates me. 

This  morning  we  walked  through  the  wind- 
ing streets.  The  soft  color  of  the  walls,  the 
vines  hanging  over,  early  spring  blossoms  in 
boxes  here  and  there,  made  charming  glimpses 
at  every  turn.    We  stepped  into  the  cloisters 

of  a  beautiful  church,  Ste.  G ,  so  lovely 

with  its  fan-vaulting,  and  old,  old,  old;  and 
then  into  the  church  itself  with  its  lighted  altar, 
the  worn  battle  flags,  and  flowers  everywhere. 
In  the  corner  of  the  little  nave  was  a  rough 
wooden  hut  for  the  soldier's  guard.    Just  be- 


124 The  Children  of  France 

yond  the  church  we  met  the  cure  driving  in  his 
little  basket  phaeton,  his  fine  sweet  face  under 
his  broad  clerical  hat,  and  his  caped  coat  mak- 
ing an  old  painting  out  of  him. 

We  reached  the  cathedral  square  just  as  a 
bride  with  her  soldier  bridegroom  drove  up 
from  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  with  six  of  their  fam- 
ily or  friends.  We  followed  them  at  a  dis- 
tance through  the  great  door  of  the  cathedral, 
up  the  beautiful  nave,  and  sat  a  little  way  from 
them.  Two  little  altar  boys  in  white  with  red 
capes  came  first  and  lighted  the  candles  on  the 
altar;  then  the  priest  in  his  beautiful  vest- 
ments stood  at  the  altar  steps  and  the  little 
bride  and  her  soldier  knelt  before  him  with 
the  others  close  behind  them,  and  all  through 
the  brief  ceremony  the  siren  whistled  loudly, 
but  no  one  seemed  to  notice.  The  whole  party 
Nvent  off  with  the  priest  to  sign  the  register, 
while  we  strolled  through  the  aisles,  reading 
the  touching  war  prayers  and  memorial  tab- 
lets. There  was  one  to  a  young  aviator,  "un 
pilote  tombe  pendant  un  heroi'que  combat" 
("a  pilot  who  fell  in  heroic  action").  I  sup- 
pose that  means  little  white  wads  of  cotton  in 
a  blue  sky! 


And  the  Red  Cross  125 

The  cathedral  is  very  beautiful,  the  old  stone 
tracery  so  exquisite,  but  all  sense  of  shelter 
and  peace  is  gone.  I  kept  thinking  of  what  a 
splendid  target  it  was  in  the  landscape.  Just 
as  we  came  out,  the  scream  of  the  siren  sent  us 
to  cover  in  a  "cave  voutee,"  in  a  stable  oppo- 
site the  cathedral,  where  we  waited  until  the 
firing  ceased,  and  then  walked  back  to  the 
hotel. 

If  only  I  could  reproduce  the  little  pictures 
of  the  life  in  the  quaint  door  yards  and  shops ; 
at  the  open  square  a  fruit  stand  with  two  peas- 
ant women  and  a  nun  in  her  black  and  white, 
talking  earnestly ;  close  to  them  an  old  donkey 
braying  his  head  off,  a  more  terrible  noise  than 
the  siren;  and  everywhere  in  the  crowded 
streets  our  American  soldiers ! 

The  town  is  so  picturesque  it  is  most  unreal. 
I  feel  as  though  it  must  be  just  a  grand-opera 
stage  and  not  war  at  all,  but  the  siren  keeps 
jolting  me  back  into  life.  Just  as  we  reached 
the  hotel  the  tocsin  sounded  and  the  street 
cleared.  We  investigated  the  cellar  and  found 
the  old  concierge  and  four  of  the  servants  sit- 
ting in  rustic  garden  chairs  close  to  the  rows 
of  wine  bottles.    The  old  man  is  very  nervous 


126  The  Children  of  France 

and  was  eager  to  have  us  remain  long  after 
the  "C'est  fini,  c'est  fini"  announced  that  the 
danger  was  over. 

As  we  sat  at  the  sidewalk  tables  after  lunch, 
a  very  dingy  old  man  came  up  the  street  beat- 
ing a  drum.  He  stopped  close  to  the  foun- 
tain, beat  very  hard  for  a  few  moments  and 
then  in  a  loud  voice  read  the  law  on  the  sub- 
ject of  lights  out  at  night  and  no  street  lights, 
or  "  the  Boche  will  surely  come."  No  one 
seemed  to  pay  attention  to  him ;  the  army  cars, 
the  Red  Cross  ambulances,  the  heavy  motor 
lorries  rumbled  by;  the  soldiers  laughed  and 
talked,  all  kinds  of  soldiers,  French,  Ameri- 
can, Italian,  Algerians,  Moroccan,  East  In- 
dians, Chinese — just  the  most  unbelievable 
groups  of  men  in  the  world.  And  all  so  gay 
and  cheerful  and  in  wonderful  condition!  A 
regiment  coming  back  from  the  front-line 
trenches  passed  by,  dirty,  yes,  but  the  most 
splendid,  well-fed,  happy-looking  set  of  sol- 
diers you  can  imagine.  I  have  been  sort  of 
nervous  and  anxious  before  coming  here — the 
tension  among  civilians  has  been  noticeable — 
but  up  here  close  to  the  real  business  the  spirit 


And  the  Red  Cross  127 

is  wonderful.  There  is  no  fear  here,  I  as- 
sure you. 

This  afternoon  we  spent  at  the  Hospital  St. 

C .     The   French   surgeon   at  the  head, 

Doeteur  Pillon,  has  such  a  fine  face,  with  a 
look  of  strength  and  sweetness  about  his  eyes. 
He  was  gracious  and  kindly  and  so  eager  to 
show  what  was  needed  for  his  men.  There 
are  three  hundred  men  in  that  hospital,  with 
only  fourteen  nurses,  so  you  can  imagine  the 
burden.  Fifty  thousand  men  have  been  in  his 
operating  room  and  he  is  in  need  of  instru- 
ments. A  wounded  aviator  was  brought  in 
while  we  were  there,  both  legs  fractured,  and 
smashed  jaws.  When  I  come  to  such  mo- 
ments I  have  such  a  strange  feeling  of  exalta- 
tion sweep  over  me,  and  it  is  caused  by  the 
thought  of  those  twenty-two  million  members 
of  the  American  Red  Cross  at  home.  I  won- 
der if  you  will  ever  realize  what  that  has  done 
over  here,  that  backing.  When  we  meet  a 
need  here,  the  American  Red  Cross  says 
"Yes"  instantly.  No  "hesitations,"  no  "ifs." 
Twenty-two  million  Americans  say  yes  to  your 
need  of  instruments,  Doeteur;  yes,  to  your 
wounded  man  from  out  the  blue;  yes,  to  the 


128  The  Children  of  France 

women  and  children  from  bombed  villages. 
Never  again  will  I  scorn  the  drudgery  of  mem- 
bership committees.  Twenty-two  million  peo- 
ple behind  the  needs  of  our  boys  here  for  hos- 
pital care  and  comforts!  Is  it  any  wonder 
they  walk  these  little  streets  of  France  with 
a  confidence  that  is  contagious,  that  has  quick- 
ened these  little  towns  with  fresh  courage  and 
hope? 

I  can't  help  writing  this.  I  am  so  afraid  the 
home  people  won't  be  told  often  enough  what 
their  Red  Cross  means  over  here;  every  one 
is  so  busy  doing  the  work  that  few  write  of 
this  feeling.  I  was  talking  with  a  French  so- 
cial worker  the  other  day,  of  the  war  and  the 
different  terrible  crises  they  have  passed 
through  and  the  plight  of  the  civilian  popu- 
lations, and  she  said:  "For  us  there  has  always 
J)een  the  miracle.  Since  the  Marne  we  know 
that,  however  black  the  clouds,  the  miracle 
will  happen.  That's  what  we  call  the  Ameri- 
can Red  Cross,  you  know,  our  'miracle  of 
1917.'  We  saw  no  way  through  this  winter 
until  you  came." 

Oh,  my  dear,  do  everything  you  can  to  make 
the  people  feel  this  at  home.    I  must  stop;  the 


And  the  Red  Cross  129 

candle  has  burned  too  low  to  see.  We  are  here 
waiting  for  papers  to  make  the  trip  over  the 
gassed  villages  in  search  of  children,  and  to  the 
first-aid  dressing  station  just  back  of  the  line. 
We  will  probably  get  off  Monday. 


130  The  Children  of  France 


Somewhere  in  France^ 
February  — ,  1918 

I  didn't  write  yesterday;  just  rested.  We 
went  into  the  cathedral  in  the  morning.  It 
was  crowded  with  soldiers.  Then  a  long  walk 
in  the  afternoon  and  early  to  bed  for  the  trip 
to-day. 

All  night  long  troops  went  through  in  the 
dark.  I  stood  on  my  little  balcony  watching 
the  moving  mass  of  men  marching  through 
5vith  only  an  occasional  flash  of  light  from  a 
pocket  lamp  to  show  them  the  turn  at  the 
fountain.  It  seemed  the  most  sinister  thing, 
that  moving  of  regiments  in  the  dark.  I 
watched  for  an  hour  and  then  went  back  to 
bed.  The  sound  of  marching  feet  went  on 
until  dawn.  I  could  not  sleep;  I  kept  won- 
dering what  the  men  thought  as  they  went 
along  in  the  darkness,  so  silent,  men  from  all 


And  the  Red  Cross  131 

over  the  world  marching  together  against  a 
common  enemy.  It  was  a  thrilling  sound, 
those  thousands  of  feet  on  the  cobble  stones. 
I  feel  that  I  shall  never  hear  it  again  with- 
out the  thought  of  that  darkness  last  night. 

We  left  for  the  trip  promptly  this  morn- 
ing. The  French  Colonel  of  the  division  gave 
us  his  car  and  provided  us  with  gas  masks. 
I  think  the  latter  make  one  rage  even  more 
than  the  submarine.  Such  a  dirty,  under- 
handed, sneaking  kind  of  warfare  forced  on  a 
civilized  world!  The  masks  are  an  awful  trial; 
I  certainly  don't  blame  the  children  for  refus- 
ing to  wear  them. 

It  was  a  wonderful  morning,  sunny  and 
warm  after  the  awful  cold  of  winter,  and  a 
look  of  spring  in  the  fields.  Of  course  we  may 
have  more  snow,  but  it  does  not  seem  possible 
such  days.  It  was  perfectly  quiet  everywhere, 
not  a  sign  of  war;  just  beautiful  rolling  coun- 
try at  the  first  glance;  then  we  began  to  no- 
tice the  clever  camouflage  of  barbed  wire,  and 
entrances  to  communicating  trenches. 

We  stopped  at  the  first  village  to  get  our 
escort,  the  officer  who  takes  charge  of  you  on 
such  a  trip  and  makes  things  as  safe  as  pos- 


132 The  Children  of  France 

sible.  While  waiting  we  stepped  into  an  offi- 
cers' graveyard  by  the  side  of  the  road.  There 
was  a  big  shell  hole  near,  but  the  gallant  rows 
of  crosses  seemed  to  stand  fearlessly  in  the 
sunshine. 

Our  second  errand  was  at  M ,  where 

Section  O,  American  Ambulance,  were  busy 
getting  the  picturesque  old  cowyard  converted 
into  a  livable  camp.  The  barracks  were  being 
cleaned  with  a  right  good  will.  There  was 
much  laughter  and  talk.  Two  big  smiling 
boys  were  disinfecting  the  beds.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  fun  they  were  getting  out  of  that 
disagreeable  job.  The  rows  of  ambulances 
were  under  cover.  There  was  no  sign  of  a 
camp,  just  a  farmyard,  but  these  cars  run  be- 
tween the  first-aid  dressing  stations  and  the 
base  hospital. 

It  was  there  I  discovered  with  a  jolt  that 
we  were  within  range  of  German  guns;  and 
from  there  on  I  noticed  our  road  was  screened. 
Here  and  there  a  section  would  be  clear,  but 
the  sign  "Ne  pas  stationner"  (Do  not  linger 
here)  sent  our  car  leaping  past  the  gaps  with 
a  speed  that  took  your  breath  away. 

At  every  village  we  stopped  and  hunted 


And  the  Red  Cross  133 

about  among  the  ruins  of  little  farm  build- 
ings until  we  found  the  few  civilians,  old  men, 
women  and  a  few  older  children  clinging  to 
cellars  of  what  once  was  home  to  them.  I  can- 
not understand  it.  I  know  all  the  reasons  mhy 
they  stay,  but  I  do  not  see  how  they  stay;  I 
feel  I  should  go  anywhere  to  get  away  from 
the  guns  and  the  gas. 

We  stopped  for  lunch  at  the  village  of 
B .  About  half  of  the  village  was  in  com- 
plete ruins,  the  rest  just  sort  of  casually 
wrecked  here  and  there.  There  were  eight 
people  left  in  the  village,  the  Mayor,  his  wife 
and  sister,  the  cure  and  his  old  mother,  and 
three  old  men.  The  Mayor  begged  us  to  eat 
with  them  in  all  that  was  left  of  his  house — one 
low-ceilinged  room  with  a  big  fireplace  with  its 
little  iron  crucifix  on  the  mantelshelf.  There 
was  a  low  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with 
long  benches  on  either  side,  where  we  spread 
out  our  lunch,  sardines  apd  black  bread. 
Such  hospitality  as  that  man  and  his  wife 
offered  us !  They  begged  us  to  eat  their  bread 
and  save  our  own.  We  knew  the  bread  they 
had  was  a  strict  ration  and  if  we  took  it  they 
would  go  without,  but  we  ate  of  theirs  and 


134  The  VUldren  of  France 

left  ours  on  the  table  unnoticed  in  the  formali- 
ties of  departure. 

The  restored  church  was  the  most  poignant 
thing  we  saw  there  with  its  temporary  roof 
built  by  the  soldiers.  And  the  most  amusing 
person  we  met  was  the  cure's  mother.  When 
she  discovered  that  we  were  Americans  she 
said:  "Mais,  vous  n'etes  pas  noires  .  .  .  vous 
avez  I'air  de  rran9aisesr'  ("But  you  are  not 
black,  you  look  like  French  women"). 

We  sped  along  the  road  some  distance,  not 
very  far  I  should  say,  when  a  soldier  seemed 
to  come  up  out  of  the  ground  by  the  roadside 
where  we  slowed  down  to  turn  sharply  to  the 
right,  to  skirt  what  looked  like  a  low  green 
hill.  I  asked  where  he  had  come  from  and 
the  French  oiBcer  explained,  from  the  front- 
line trench  so  many  yards  away! 

Yes,  there  I  was  within  yards  of  German 
trenches.  I  am  going  to  disappoint  you  hor- 
ribly; I  wasn't  thrilled  a  bit;  I  was  terrified, 
just  completely  terrified,  and  I  had  but  one 
thought,  and  that  was  to  turn  the  car  around 
and  fly  for  safety.  But  of  course  you  don't  do 
it — you  go  on.  The  car  stopped,  and  pres- 
ently signs  of  movement  on  thes  iside  of  that 


And  the  Red  Cross  135 

green  hill  showed  that  we  had  reached  some- 
thing. 

We  got  out  of  the  ear  and  walked  across 
the  little  open  space,  and  there  it  was — the 
First  Aid  Dressing  Station.  That  small  green 
hill  was  a  human  beehive,  the  home  of  many 
men  connected  with  the  battery  there.  It  was 
the  cleverest  disguise  you  can  imagine;  you 
would  never  have  noticed  it  a  few  yards  away. 
It  has  never  been  shelled. 

The  French  surgeon  showed  us  his  little 
hospital  in  the  hill,  the  room  where  the  men 
receive  first-aid  treatment  and  bandages,  each 
man  given  the  tetanus  toxin  and  then  rushed 
back  by  ambulance  to  the  nearest  hospital. 
That  clever  doctor  is  constantly  experiment- 
ing with  the  gas  he  catches  in  a  trap,  and  he 
has  saved  hundreds  of  lives  by  his  results  in 
new  protective  measures.  He  has  wonderful 
baths  for  his  men  there  also,  a  fine  big  shower 
room  built  in  the  hillside.  When  the  sector 
is  quiet,  men  come  back  in  relays  from  the 
trenches,  have  their  baths,  and  go  back  clean. 

It  was  all  perfectly  amazing  to  me,  the  nor- 
mality of  life  attempted  and  achieved.  I  can't 
imagine  taking  a  bath  if  I  were  in  a  front- 


186  The  Children  of  France 

line  trench  opposite  German  trenches,  and  yet 
I  saw  in  the  two  hours  we  were  up  there  this 
afternoon  dozens  of  men  with  their  towels  over 
their  arms  going  back  and  forth  to  the  show- 
ers, hot  showers,  mind  you,  and  there  was  a 
recreation  room  also. 

The  colonel  of  the  battery  had  a  concert  for 
us — two  violins  and  a  'cello,  and  the  men 
played  beautifully.  It  was  all  unbelievable. 
All  the  time  the  battery  located  somewhere 
behind  us  was  firing  the  famous  75 's  over  our 
heads!  The  colonel  apologized  for  the  noise; 
he  said  he  would  stop  it,  only  it  was  their  cus- 
tom at  that  hour  to  drop  a  few  shells  into  the 
German  trenches  and  he  didn't  want  to  dis- 
appoint any  one!  I  disgraced  my  whole  fam- 
ily, I  suppose,  by  jumping  every  time  a  shell 
went  over  us,  but  it  amused  the  poilus  tremen- 
dously, so  I  don't  care.  I  was  frightened  out 
of  my  wits  and  it  was  impossible  not  to  show 
it.  None  of  this  was  included  in  my  education, 
— shells  that  you  can't  even  see  whizzing  over 
your  head  had  not  been  my  idea  of  cannon 
balls.  I  thought  them  large,  round,  and  black 
and  perfectly  visible  in  their  flight, — just  an 
old-fashioned  gentlemanly  performance.  Now 


And  the  Red  Cross  187 

I  know  that  a  shell  is  simply  two  bangs  a  few 
seconds  apart,  and  that  you  feel  as  if  one  were 
absolutely  all  you  could  bear. 

The  poilus,  bless  them,  kept  me  from  run- 
ning; they  were  so  smiling  and  careless,  and 
so  interested  in  us.  I  was  so  glad  we  had  the 
car  full  of  cigarettes.  The  gallantry,  the 
bravery,  the  cheer  of  those  men  up  there,  I 
count  the  most  precious  impression  of  to-day — 
a  whole  little  world  in  itself. 

I  saw  that  little  open  rack  on  wheels  in 
which  the  wounded  are  brought  back  from  the 
trenches  on  the  tiny  track.  Once  it  brought 
a  dead  man  and  the  surgeon  pointed  to  the  left, 
and  there  the  little  track  ran  up  to  a  wooded 
corner  where  the  graves  were,  all  carefully 
tended.  Twice  wounded  men  were  brought 
in,  treated  and  put  gently  Into  the  ambulance 
by  our  American  boys,  and  out  on  to  the  road 
and  away.  The  sight  did  much  to  reconcile 
me  to  the  noise  of  the  75's. 

On  our  way  back  we  visited  three  hospitals, 
all  under  fire,  screened  from  the  roads,  and 
filled  with  wounded  men.  There  are  no  women 
nurses  in  these  French  hospitals,  and  I  longed 
for  them.    The  men  looked  so  uncomfortable 


138  The  Children  of  France 

and  the  wards  had  that  clumsy  man  look. 
Many  of  the  men  were  septic ;  oh,  such  terrible 
suffering  and  such  cheerful  patient  faces! 

How  are  we  ever  to  forget  the  fact  that  the 
Germans  homh  hospitals? 

You  can  imagine  that  I  am  rather  limp 

after  the  day.    We  came  into  T just  at 

sunset;  the  siren  was  blowing  and  the  firing 
from  the  forts  was  heavy.  I  surprised  myself 
by  not  noticing  it  very  much;  it  was  all  so 
mild  after  our  day.  Just  a  few  minutes  ago 
word  came  from  our  host  at  lunch  that  an  hour 
after  we  left,  the  bombardment  of  his  village 
began  again  and  there  is  nothing  left  "ce  soir." 
He  had  gotten  away  with  his  wife,  and  was 
"so  thankful  that  the  kind  Americans  had 
escaped." 

These  beloved  French  people,  they  break 
your  heart !  Can  you  imagine  thinking  of  the 
safety  of  some  casual  French  visitors,  if  your 
village  had  been  completely  demolished  and 
you  had  barely  escaped? 

To-night  I'd  rather  be  an  American  Red 
Cross  nurse  in  France  than,  well,  than  the 
Queen  of  Belgium  I  have  been  envying  for 
three  years! 


And  the  Red  Cross  139 


Somewhere  in  France, 
February  —,  1918 

The  day  has  been  so  tremendous,  I  doubt  if 
there  is  any  use  beginning  with  this  wobbly, 
half-burned  candle  that  I  blow  out  every  time 
the  siren  screams.  We  are  having  a  lively^ 
evening ! 

We  left  in  a  big  gray  car — ^9807 — at  nine 
this  morning.     We  went  spinning  along  the 

road  from  T to  N ,  a  wonderful  road, 

not  a  war  road  but  a  park  boulevard  and  most 
amazing!  That  road  is  kept  in  perfect  condi- 
tion all  the  time.  Troops  move  rapidly  here, 
I  assure  you. 

N is  a  lovely  old  city,  in  a  valley  with 

wonderful  hills  all  around  it.  We  motored 
right  to  the  beautiful  square  with  its  fine  old 
buildings  and  gateways,  where  the  splendid 


140  The  Children  of  France 

Pref  et  has  his  office.  Picking  up  his  secretary 
there,  we  went  out  to  see  the  big  refugee  home 
"Aux  Families  refugiees  des  Villages  Lor- 
raine." It  has  been  a  great  friendly  shelter 
for  eight  thousand  women  and  children  during 
the  past  four  years  and  now  it  is  to  be  evacu- 
ated. About  twelve  hundred  women  and 
children  pass  on  this  week  to  new  shelters 
farther  away,  where  it  is  safe. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  sadness  of  the 
whole  situation.  These  homeless  people  have 
come  to  love  the  big  Caserne,  its  dormitories, 
kitchens,  offices,  all  so  neat  and  clean.  As  we 
talked  with  the  women  in  the  dormitories,  their 
one  constant  question  was:  "When  can  we  go 
home?"  And  to  tell  them  that  they  are  only 
going  farther  away  from  their  little  farms,  was 
a  most  difficult  task. 

These  women  had  the  most  pathetic  but 
amazing  beds  I  ever  saw.  Most  of  them  were 
piled  high  with  their  precious  feather  "puffs" 
we  call  them,  which  they  had  brought  with 
them  in  their  flight.  Everywhere  were  the  lit- 
tle evidences  of  their  past,  in  an  embroidered 
pillow-case  or  a  bit  of  china  on  the  shelf. 
Many  little  porcelain  Madonnas  stood  guard. 


'm2E,JBUlSlLlSVEW^^ 


®*^*f  *  "^J^Z^^  Fresitfent  <t»  «««ite   Bt .  Anea«te   ISAAC 


MADAME    GILLET-MOTTE    OF    LYON,    WHO    HAS   DONE    SO    MUCH    FOR    THE 
RAPATRIES,    STANDING    IN    HER    BOOTH    AT   OUR    CHILD   WELFARE    EX- 
HIBIT IN  LYON,  WITH  THREE  UNCLAIMED  CHILDREN.    MADAME  GILLET 
HAS     CARED     FOR     3,000     CHILDREN      AND     FOUND     FAMILIES     AND 
FRIENDS    FOR   THEM 


And  the  Red  Cros3i  l-^l 

The  women  in  that  Caserne  have  been  making 
sand  bags  during  all  these  months.  Two  mil- 
lion sand  bags  in  a  year  have  been  their  con- 
tribution, besides  yards  of  beautiful  embroid- 
ery which  has  been  sold. 

A  thousand  children  and  two  hundred 
women,  a  sad  weary  procession  must  move, 
as  spring  comes  on — the  time  for  planting  and 
the  time  of  hope, — ^to  far  off  places  to  wait. 
It  is  too  bad;  the  great  Prefet  has  done  so 
much  for  his  people  here. 

After  lunch  at  a  cafe  in  the  old  square,  we 
went  off  to  the  south  to  see  some  of  the  recon- 
struction work  and  to  locate  new  dispensary 
sites.  We  passed  village  after  village  com-- 
pletely  destroyed;  their  beautiful  old  yellow 
stones  and  red  tiled  roofs  all  debris  and  holes ; 
and  such  lovely  country!    At  last  we  came  to 

iVitrimont,  the  little  village  Madame  de  B 

has  been  living  in  and  helping  to  restore  with 
Mrs.  C— — 's  generous  funds.    Our  Red  Cross 

Children's  Hospital  back  at  T holds  a 

weekly  dispensary  there  for  the  district. 
Nothing  but  a  visit  to  the  village  could  give 
the  picture  to  you. 

First  we  asked  for  the  Mayor,  then  for 


142  The  Children  of  France 

Madame  de  B .    A  little  boy  ran  off  to 

tell  the  Mayor,  who  was  working  in  his  garden. 
He  welcomed  us  warmly  and  began  at  once  to 
show  us  the  village.  The  houses  are  being 
restored  with  the  same  yellow  stone,  tiled  roofs 
and  high  archways,  preserving  absolutely  the 
original  look  of  the  village,  with  certain  im- 
provements—such as  sewage  in  the  street — 
but  still  the  fountains  at  either  end,  as  before, 
where  the  village  jugs  are  filled. 

The  little  church  has  been  most  beautifully 
restored  just  as  it  was  before,  and  the  Mayor 

spoke  so  feelingly  of  that.     Madame  de  B 

married  her  French  cavalry  general  there  last 
fall,  and  the  people  feel  that  now  this  gracious 
American  woman  belongs  to  them  forever. 

Then  we  went  to  see  the  Mayor's  own  little 
house,  a  new  one,  near  the  church.  He  has 
nothing  left  but  his  little  dog.     His  wife  was 

one  of  eight  women  killed  by  a  bomb  at  L , 

where  they  had  crowded  into  a  church  for 
safety.  That  tall  fine  looking  man  of  sixty 
had  a  dignity  about  him  that  was  most  touch- 
ing. We  walked  slowly  down,  rather  natu- 
rally, it  seemed,  to  the  heart  of  his  grief — the 
little  graveyard  where  the  Germans  had  made 


And  the  Red  Cross  143 

their  trench  right  by  the  wall.  It  was  difficult 
to  sense  the  tragedy  of  it  all.  As  you  looked 
at  the  ruins  and  then  off  to  the  beautiful 
spring  fields,  you  felt  as  though  you  had  looked 
upon  a  murder.  An  old  woman  was  sitting 
by  the  wall  who  had  been  there  in  1870.  She 
had  escaped  death  then  and  now,  she  told  us, 
but  her  beautiful  village  was  gone. 

It  is  difficult  to  put  into  words  what  the 

sympathy  and  help  of  Madame  de  B has 

meant  to  those  simple  people.  She  has  lived 
with  them  for  over  a  year  and  they  love  her 
and  cling  to  her,  and  show  it  in  such  pretty 
ways.  Her  little  house  is  full  of  expressions 
of  their  feeling.  Her  citizen's  paper  pre- 
sented to  her  by  the  Mayor,  hangs  on  the  wall 
of  her  two-room  house ;  one  of  the  village  girls 
she  has  taught  to  sew  and  embroider,  proudly 
but  shyly  pointed  it  out  to  me. 

From  there,  we  flew  still  farther  south  along 
the  highway  through  shelled  villages  to  the  old 
town  of  Gerbeviller, — up,  up  the  winding 
street  filled  with  debris,  ruins  everyhere,  to 
the  little  convent  and  church  which  Sister  Julie 
defended  so  heroically  in  that  cruel  attack  on 
her  beloved  village.     For  over  an  hour  she 


144}  The  Children  of  France 

told  us  the  whole  story  of  that  martyrdom,  her 
fine  old  face  all  alight,  twinkling  now  with 
humor,  then  a  look  of  horror  and  sadness 
would  pass  across  her  eager  face,  then  anger — 
oh,  such  flashing  anger — as  she  told  of  her  en- 
counter with  the  Germans  when  they  tried  to 
kill  her  wounded  men.  "Tous  les  grands 
blesses  sont  freres"  ("All  wounded  men  are 
brothers")  was  her  now  famous  challenge  to 
the  barbarians! 

Sister  Julie  and  six  of  her  nuns  stayed  under 
that  cruel  fire  and  cared  for  the  wounded,  and 
to  hear  the  story  from  her  was  a  rare  experi- 
ence. She  vivified  the  whole  tragedy  by  the 
marvelous  use  of  her  hands  as  she  talked. 

We  came  away  most  reluctantly,  along  the 
road  past  the  temporary  houses  put  up  by  the 
French  Grovernment,  very  good  houses  built 
more  or  less  like  the  old  ones.  The  dispensary 
service  given  by  the  American  Fund  for 
French  Wounded  and  the  Red  Cross,  under 

dear  Dr.  K ,  is  a  great  one.     That  woman 

doctor  is  as  beloved  in  Gerbeviller  as  Madame 

de  B is  in  Vitrimont.     I  am  feeling  a  bit 

proud  of  American  women  to-night. 

We  came  back  through  the  stricken  country 


And  the  Red  Cross  145 

to  N at  top  speed.     Just  as  we  whirled 

into  the  old  square,  we  saw  the  crowd — a  fallen 
German  plane  brought  down  by  an  anti-air- 
craft gun.  It  was  a  thrilling  moment;  just 
that  grip  at  your  heart  until  you  were  sure  it 
was  an  enemy  machine.  It  was  just  dusk; 
there  was  no  time  to  stop  if  we  were  to  make 

our  hotel  at  T before  things  became  lively. 

As  it  was,  it  did  grow  dark  while  we  flew  along 
the  screened  roads.  We  watched  the  signal 
lights  for  the  airmen,  saw  the  "evening  stars" 
light  up  No  Man's  Land,  like  the  strongest  of 
electric  lights.  One  could  read  a  paper  in  our 
motor,  with  little  effort.  It  was  quite  dark 
when  we  came  in,  but  every  post  expected  us 
and  passed  us  rapidly. 

And  now  things  are  lively.  What  do  you 
do?  Well,  you  just  decide  to  go  to  bed,  trust 
to  the  American,  French,  Italian  and  every 
kind  of  soldier  you  know  is  about,  knowing 
that  bombs  are  no  respecters  of  persons  or  sol- 
diers 1 


146  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

March  2,  1918 

I  SUPPOSE  sooner  or  later  you  will  notice  in 
the  American  papers  that  the  school  children 
of  every  district  in  Paris  are  being  provided 
with  supplementary  food  by  the  American 
Red  Cross,  and  that  is  true;  but  oh,  it  is  not 
all!  It  began  yesterday  in  the  14th  district 
here,  and  I  went  with  the  doctors  from  the  Bu- 
reau, the  Mayor  of  the  district,  and  the  head  of 
the  Public  Schools  of  the  district,  to  watch  it 
all  begin  in  the  different  schools,  and  I  am  in 
despair  at  the  thought  of  trying  to  put  into 
words  the  delicate,  exquisite  expression  of  the 
gratitude  of  the  children,  and  their  eagerness 
about  us  Americans,  and  their  delight  over  the 
Red  Cross  buns  made  in  our  own  bake  shop 
in  the  district,  from  a  specially  worked  out 


And  the  Red  Cross  147 

formula  prepared  by  Dr.  M who  is  in 

charge  of  the  Paris  work. 

The  children  had  expressed  themselves  in 
many  ways.  At  each  school  some  welcoming 
poster  greeted  us:  **Thanks  to  the  American 
Red  Cross"  and  "Welcome  to  our  American 
granters,"  which  was  the  quaint  sign  in  Eng- 
lish at  one  school. 

At  another,  the  art  class  had  decorated  the 
entire  end  of  the  big  assembly  hall,  Washing- 
ton and  Lafayette  in  gay  blue  wreaths  with 
colored  drawings  on  either  side;  one  of  an 
American  Red  Cross  nurse  helping  a  little 
child ;  the  other  of  an  American  woman  giving 
buns  and  chocolate  to  the  children.  The  cook- 
ing class  at  that  school  had  prepared  delicious 
custards  made  by  magic  without  using  any  in- 
gredients forbidden  by  food  regulations.  The 
girls  served  it  to  us  themselves  and  they  were 
so  pleased  over  our  exclamations  of  delight. 
Their  shining  eyes  and  soft  pink  cheeks  made 
even  the  palest  of  them  pretty. 

Of  course,  the  Red  Cross  bun  for  afternoon 
is  only  one  part  of  our  gift.  All  these  schools 
have  canteens  for  the  children  and  the  A.R.C. 
is  giving  ham,  beef,  lentils,  beans,  macaroni, 


148  The  Children  of  France 

potatoes,  rice,  confiture,  lard,  cheese,  sugar, 
peas,  flour,  milk — ^thousands  of  kilos  of  these 
foodstuffs.  The  Red  Cross  bun  is  just  one 
little  gift  that  permits  of  a  bit  of  sentiment  in 
its  expression. 

In  some  of  the  schools  the  children  had  made 
tiny  paper  American  flags  and  pinned  them 
on  the  buns,  and  at  another,  paper  flowers  had 
been  made  and  were  presented  to  us,  a  pink 
rose  bud  as  thanks  for  a  fat  looking  bun. 

The  neat  little  kitchen  at  another  school  had 
our  flag  on  the  chimney,  and  a  bright  faced 
French  woman  tried  to  thank  the  Americans 
for  her  little  child.     A  kind  American  woman, 

a  Mrs.  S of  Michigan,  is  paying  for  her 

little  fatherless  girl,  and  this  hard  working 
mother  wanted  to  thank  us  for  the  kindness  of 
one  of  our  country  women  but  she  couldn't, 
she  just  sobbed  into  her  clean  apron. 

I  can't  give  it  to  you  in  any  order.  It  just 
remains  with  me  as  a  most  moving  picture; 
hundreds  of  httle  children,  the  boys  in  their 
black  aprons,  the  girls  in  checked  dresses,  and 
above  them,  shining  eyes,  smiles,  and  an  eager- 
ness that  choked  me. 

At  one  school,  before  we  distributed  the 


DR.    MURPHY    AND    DR.    MANNING   OF    THE    CHILDREN'S    BUREAU    FEEDING 

THE    SLEEPY,    UNDER-NOURISHED    CHILDREN    OF   THE    "ECOLE    MATER- 

NELLE"    IN    THE    EIGHTEENTH    ARRONDISSEMENT    OF    PARIS 


And  the  Red  Cross  149 

buns  from  the  gaily  decorated  baskets,  a  little 
girl  read  quite  clearly  and  distinctly  in  the 
prettiest  of  English,  the  following: 

"I  am  very  happy  to  have  been  chosen  to 
thank  you  for  the  new  act  of  kindness  which 
the  American  Red  Cross  is  showing  to  the 
children  of  our  schools.  We  are  deeply 
moved  at  the  thought  that  the  United  States 
do  so  much  to  help  us  in  our  great  trial  and 
that  they  even  think  of  our  little  ones  who  will 
after  the  war  be  the  builders  of  a  renovated 
world.  We  feel  sure  that  they  and  we  with 
them,  will  always  be  grateful  to  the  noble  Na- 
tion who  out  of  pure  Love  of  Justice  and 
Right  did  not  hesitate  to  enter  this  terrible 
war  and  support  us  by  every  means  in  its 
power." 

She  was  quite  close  to  us  and  she  knew  her 
little  speech  well  so  that  she  was  able  to  look 
at  us  with  big  star-like  eyes  as  she  spoke.  All 
the  other  children,  some  four  hundred  of  them, 
listened  breathlessly  with  their  eyes  fastened 
upon  us,  as  we  listened  to  their  little  represen- 
tative. I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  forget  the 
tenseness  of  those  moments.  All  the  little 
children  of  France  seemed  to  confront  us  with 


150  The  Children  of  France 

their  clear  eyes,  and  I  was  overwhelmed  for  a 
moment  by  the  smallness  of  the  American  gift. 
But  it  isn't  small,  and  they  made  us  feel  that 
it  was  ten  times  larger  than  it  is. 

There  was  another  tense  moment  when  a 
teacher  asked  for  a  show  of  hands  of  those 
whose  fathers  were  fighting.  Many,  many 
thin  hands  rose  white  against  the  blackboards ; 
but  when  the  question  was  put, — ^how  many 
whose  fathers  have  fought,  every  hand  went 

up- 

Oh,  you  may  hear  disgruntled  ones  criticize 

even  the  heroic  French  soldiers,  but  there  can 
be  no  question  about  the  contribution  French 
children  have  made  to  this  great  cause.  They 
have  had  to  see  everything  in  their  home 
world  changed  and  made  difficult,  often  the 
giving  up  of  their  homes,  giving  up  of  their 
food  and  clothing  and  all  the  little  gay  things 
of  childhood.  That  was  what  made  a  goose 
out  of  me  yesterday;  the  real  fun  those  chil- 
dren were  getting  out  of  our  gift,  the  fun  of 
thanking  us.  They  sang  our  "Star  Spangled 
Banner"  in  English,  That  was  most  amusing 
for  them  and  very  fine  for  us.  They  sang  it 
with  a  real  ringing  zest  that  brought  the  tears. 


And  the  Red  Cross  151 

They  sang  it  in  French  and  that  interested 
them  all.  You  could  see  the  little  ones  who 
were  not  singing,  listening  to  every  word. 

At  one  of  the  girls'  schools,  two  charming 
little  girls  of  fourteen,  I  should  say,  holding 
American  and  French  flags,  recited  this  touch- 
ing tribute : 


HONNEUR  A  L'AMERIQUE 


'Salut  a  la  noble  Amerique 

Au  peuple  avec  nous  comhattant! 

Honneur  a  son  geste  hero'ique 

Et  serrons  la  main  qu*il  nous  tend. 

Comme  aux  grands  jours  de  notre  Histoire 

Que  soient  lies  nos  deux  pays 

Et  contre  les  Boches  maudits 

Marchons  ensemble  a  la  Victoire! 

Debout  contre  la  barbarie 
Marchons,  luttons  tous  ardemment 
II  faut  pour  sauver  la  Patrie, 
Terrasser  le  monstre  allemand. 
Et  nous  pourrons  revoir  encore 
Sous  le  soleil  longtemps  voile 
Le  grand  etendard  etoile 
S'unir  g,u  drape  au  tricolor e. 

Sous  les  drapeaux  d* Amerique  et  de  France 
Tou jours  unis  par  la  Fratemite 
Nous  combattrons  pour  notre  delivrance 
Pour  la  Justice  et  pour  la  Liberie/* 


152  The  Children  of  France 

And  when  they  had  finished  and  we  had 
clapped  and  called  "Bravo,  Bravo,"  the  gu*I 
with  the  American  flag  stepped  forward  to  say 
a  special  word  of  thanks  in  English,  It  was 
a  great  moment.  She  looked  like  a  little 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  with  her  thick  wavy  hair  cut 
short,  beautiful  hazel  eyes,  and  flaming  cheeks, 
and  with  our  lovely  flag  furled  around  her. 
But  it  was  too  much;  she  could  not  remember 
the  English.  "We  thank  you"  was  all  she 
could  say.  You  know  how  undignified  I  can 
be  at  times;  well,  I  just  hugged  her  tight,  flag 
and  all,  and  assured  her  that  we  understood. 
There  was  no  need  for  words. 

The  school  lunches  of  the  American  Red 
Cross  in  Paris  will  be  recorded  in  kilos  and 
packages,  of  course.  To  me,  they  will  always 
suggest  that  little  Jeanne  d'Arc  with  our  be- 
loved flag,  saying  "We  thank  you"  for  the 
children  of  France  to  the  children  at  home. 


a 

u 

K  o 


2  3 


w 

^  fc  ^ 

as   <   1 

D  w  ?; 

S  BC  c, 
w       c 

-     Q     U. 

CO  J  5 
^  »  f- 
S  u 

<s 

CO  a 

u  w 

a  ^ 

?° 

H 

2;  z 
u  u 

a  22 

^° 
^^ 

o 


And  the  Red  Cross  158 


Chateau  des  HaUeSj 
March  A,  1918 

I 

i  I  AM  here  again  for  a  few  days.  It  is  sim- 
*  ply  heavenly,  like  spring  at  home  in  New 
England,  all  earthy,  and  birds  calling.  The 
old  greenhouses  here  are  filled  with  wonderful 
I  blooms,  and  the  whole  landscape  is  a  dream 
of  soft  green  fields  and  feathery  trees.  All 
the  windows  and  doors  of  the  chateau  stand 
open.  The  well  children,  or  well-enough- 
children,  are  having  their  games  and  lessons 
out  of  doors;  "courant  d'air"  is  going  to  lose 
its  terror  for  these  children;  they  now  ask  to 
have  the  windows  open,  the  nurses  tell  me. 
Violets  are  everywhere,  and  the  children  have 
filled  my  room  with  little  squeezed-up  bunches 
of  them,  and  still  bring  more.  They  are  so 
eager  to  give  us  something. 


154  The  Children  of  France 

The  whole  place  has  been  so  happy  for 
every  one  until  three  days  ago.  Of  course 
every  hospital,  even  convalescent  ones,  have 
to  have  deaths,  but  until  now  this  wonderful 
old  place  has  escaped.  You  remember  the 
terrible  sickness  of  little  Albert  at  Christmas 
time?  It  seemed  to  us  then  that  if  he  could 
get  well,  no  child  need  die.  Well,  three  lovely 
spring  days  ago,  beloved  little  Jean-Bap tiste 
went  away  "to  mother"  as  Victoire  said.  Yes, 
my  blessed  little  family  of  five  that  I  have 
written  you  so  much  about  is  now  four.  The 
children  came  here  from  Evian  to  get  well  and 
strong  and  "wait  for  father,"  and  after  a 
month  Cyr  is  sunburned  and  well.  Victoire 
is  now  a  normal  little  girl  of  twelve  instead  of 
an  old  woman.  Juliette  is  positively  fat,  and 
Louis  is  all  over  his  whooping  cough  and  get- 
ting rosy  again,  but  their  baby  Jean  just 
couldn't.  He  had  gone  too  far  down,  a  war 
baby  with  four  terrifying  years  lived  through 
with  all  that  means  of  neglect  and  privation. 
And  he  seemed  to  us  to  try  so  hard  to  get  well ; 
he  loved  everything  and  everybody.  As  for 
Victoire,  she  was  his  little  mother.  I  don't 
believe  any  child  of  her  own  will  ever  be  more 


And  the  Red  Cross  155 

to  her  than  this  little  brother.  And  to  make 
it  all  worse,  the  day  Jean-Bap tiste  died,  word 
came  that  father  was  alive  and  coming  soon, 
and  yesterday  he  arrived.  We  all  feel  that 
his  coming  just  then  saved  Victoire.  It  was 
terrible  for  them  all,  but  the  four  that  are  left 
are,  in  a  way,  more  to  the  father  than  the  last 
little  son  he  had  seen  but  once  as  a  tiny 
baby,  and  the  father's  joy  in  them  helped  them 
over  these  first  days,  without  Jean-Baptiste. 

Mr.  G is  a  tall,  splendid  looking  man, 

with  dark,  kindly  eyes  like  Cyr's,  and  a  smile 
that  lights  up  his  tired  face  whenever  he  looks 
at  the  children.  He  is  so  grateful  to  the  hos- 
pital for  the  care  of  the  children  that  it  helped 
Dr.  O to  get  over  this  first  death. 

It  is  amazing  the  way  this  doctor  felt,  who 
had  seen  countless  children  die  in  hospitals  at 
home.  He  kept  saying  to  me  the  last  days, 
"We  have  got  to  save  this  child.  Why,  his 
father  is  fighting  up  there  in  that  hell  to  save 
the  whole  blooming  world.  We  must  save 
Jean-Baptiste  for  him." 

It's  terribly  real,  this  feeling  over  here  of 
the  great  debt  we  owe — and  it  comes  out  con- 
stantly in  unexpected  places.     I  have  watched 


156  The  Children  of  France 

it  at  Evian,  among  the  doctors  and  nurses  in 
their  fight  to  save  some  of  those  dreadfully 
sick  children.  I  have  never  seen  such  tense- 
ness and  determination,  and  children  have  been 
saved  as  though  by  miracles.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  quiet  rebuke  I  received  last  week 
when  I  was  urging  the  Medecin-chef  at  the 
Evian  hospital  to  spare  himself  a  little ;  he  was 
fairly  staggering  with  fatigue,  having  exam- 
ined some  seven  hundred  children  daily  besides 
carrying  the  service  of  the  two  hundred  bed 
hospital.  He  looked  at  me  almost  sternly  and 
answered,  "You  forget  these  are  the  children 
of  the  men  who  said  *They  shall  not  pass,'  and 
they  didn't  pass."  A  very  simple,  real  state- 
ment. That's  just  the  difference  between  the 
children  here  and  the  children  at  home  as  yet. 
These  are  the  loved  ones  of  the  men  of  the 
Marne,  of  Verdun,  and  these  kiddies  are  now 
just  about  five  times  as  precious  to  the  life  of 
the  nation  as  they  were  before  the  war.  So 
little  Jean  was  t;erz/  precious,  and  this  happy 
old  place  is  sad  to-day. 

But  a  beautiful  thing  was  revealed  by  the 
little  lad's  death.  You  remember  how  difficult 
it  has  been  to  win  the  old  servants  we  acquired 


And  the  Red  Cross  157 

with  the  chateau,  especially  old  Jean,  the 
butler?  Well,  I  think  no  one  is  sadder  to-day 
than  Jean.  He  loves  the  children  now  and  all 
the  staff,  I  think,  and  it  was  old  Jean  who 
made  the  little  spot  of  earth  all  green  and  full 
of  blooms  before  Victoire  took  her  father  there 
this  afternoon.  And  to-night,  Jean  asked 
our  doctor  most  anxiously  whether  he  thought 
the  Red  Cross  would  ever  want  to  put  a 
younger  man  in  his  place.  Dr.  O an- 
swered, "Why,  do  you  like  it  here,  Jean?" 
Jean  hesitated  a  moment — he  is  a  reserved  old 

man — then  he  put  his  arm  around  Dr.  O 's 

shoulder,  and  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
cheeks,  said,  "Never  so  much  as  now,  M.  le 
Docteur,  this  is  the  best  of  my  life/'  I  think 
he  will  stay  to  the  end.  The  only  quarrels 
we  ever  have  "below  stairs"  now  are  caused  by 
endless  arguments  as  to  which  one  of  them  is 
to  do  some  particular  thing  for  either  the  chil- 
dren or  the  staff. 

The  ambulance  men  talk  of  the  "Victory  of 
les  Halles"  as  the  only  fight  they  have  been  in. 

As  dear  H said  this  afternoon,  "It  helps 

me  to  wait  for  that  military  assignment." 
H ,  you  know,  has  at  last  been  accepted 


158  The  Children  of  France 

by  the  army.  We  are  all  glad  for  him.  He 
is  so  anxious  to  go.  He  confided  to  me  long 
ago,  when  I  was  making  perfectly  futile  ef- 
forts to  comfort  him,  "You  don't  understand, 

Mrs.  .     How'd  I  feel  goin'  back  home 

when  this  business  is  over  and  the  only  kind  of 
powder  I  could  talk  about  would  be  'talcum'?" 
The  disgust  in  his  voice  was  monumental.  I 
stopped  arguing. 


And  the  Red  Cross  159 


Lyorij 

March   6,   1918 

I  FEEL  all  ground  up  into  bits  to-day.  I  have 
been  visiting  munition  factories!  Now,  don't 
expect  me  to  describe  all  the  shells  and  things 
I  saw  in  the  process  of  making.  I  could  not 
do  it.  I  recognized  the  shells  when  they  began 
to  look  like  shells,  but  I  didn't  recognize  any 
of  the  early  stages  of  munition  making.  The 
manager  tried  to  explain  to  me  the  intricacies 
of  the  small  charges  that  are  put  into  these 
big  shells.  I  tried  desperately  to  follow,  but 
I  found  when  I  came  away  that  I  could  not  de- 
scribe the  process. 

But  I  have  certain  impressions  that  are  so 
deep  I'll  never  forget  them. 

I  have  a  feeling  for  oil  to-night  that  is  inde- 
scribable; it  is  in  my  nose,  my  mouth,  my  eyes, 
my  hair,  all  over  my  shoes,  my  uniform.     The 


160 The  Children  of  France 

long  sheds  were  filled  with  machinery  and 
workers.  Eight  thousand  women  standing 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  six  thousand  men, 
seemed  to  blur  before  you  in  the  general  whirl 
of  oil.  It  was  everywhere.  It  seemed  to  be 
the  medium  that  molded  that  thundering  build- 
ing into  one  great  machine.  That  is  one  of 
my  deepest  impressions. 

Then  it  was  just  noise;  such  a  noise  that 
struck  you  all  over,  not  only  in  the  ears,  but 
in  your  heart,  you  felt  all  thumpy  and  throb- 
bing. I  could  not  hear  anything  that  was  said 
to  me — just  this  terrible  roar  of  machinery. 

Then  it  was  just  speed.  Every  section  I 
looked  at  was  flying  at  such  rapidity,  I  could 
not  distinguish  human  worker  from  the  oily 
monster  she  worked  with.  I  could  not  breathe. 
Hands  and  levers  flashed  back  and  forth; 
things  moved  everywhere;  chain  racks  holding 
shells  rolled  constantly  overhead — half  finished 
shells,  finished  shells,  red  hot  shells,  cool  shells 
"—everything  moved.  AH  those  human  beings 
working  at  an  unthinkable  speed  were  becom- 
ing part  of  that  tremendous  output  of  might 
against  the  enemy.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
I  could  seem  to  take  in  any  of  the  detail. 


And  the  Red  Cross  161 

Then  I  began  to  see  faces — individual  faces  of 
the  men  and  women;  and  I  saw  through  the 
oil  and  the  grime  the  same  cheerfulness,  the 
same  determination,  that  I  felt  among  the 
poilus  at  the  front.  It  was  unexpected.  So 
many  people  talk  about  the  awf  ulness  of  every- 
thing, of  w^ar,  of  women  in  munitions,  of  any 
labor  connected  with  the  present  situation. 
Now  you  know  I  am  not  a  feminist,  or  a  mili- 
tant suffragist;  I  am  just  one  of  thousands  of 
college  women  who  are  thinking  about  things. 
And  I  didn't  feel  the  depression  I  expected. 
Those  people  seemed  to  be  working  with  a 
spirit  that  is  higher  than  any  wage  or  condi- 
tion. There  seemed  to  be  just  the  same  glori- 
ous dash  I  felt  when  close  to  the  French  front. 
That  factory  was  a  great  big  vital  line  of  de- 
fense, and  the  workers  seemed  to  be  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  fighting  men  and  armies,  and  it 
all  looked  worth  while. 

I  know  there  is  a  big  serious  side  to  the  situ- 
ation^— ^the  sacrifice  of  the  child  life  of  the 
country — ^but  for  these  heroic  women  there 
was  no  choice;  isn't  any  choice  yet.  These 
munition  factories  are  the  whole  must  of  the 
situation,  and  the  women  know  it.     I  hope  my 


162  The  Children  of  France 

country  will  hurry  with  our  own  munitions. 
The  quicker  we  are,  the  sooner  the  women  of 
France  and  England  can  have  a  choice.  In 
the  meantime  everything  is  being  done  by  Gov- 
ernment and  Red  Cross  and  Y.  W.  C.  A.  to 
help  the  women  and  their  children.  The  fac- 
tory I  have  been  in  to-day  has  a  big  canteen 
for  its  workers,  a  fine  hospital  and  dispensary. 
There  are  over  three  hundred  minor  accidents 
a  day.  I  saw  some  of  them  and  to  me  they 
seemed  major,  but  the  Verdun  standard  of 
things  as  we  call  it  in  France  is  bewildering. 

To  watch  a  woman  handling  those  red  hot 
shells,  swinging  them  quickly  into  position  in 
the  proper  machinery  without  dropping  them, 
makes  you  hold  your  breath.  You  know  be- 
ginners do  drop  them  occasionally. 

But  in  spite  of  all  I  was  thrilled  by  the 
sights  of  the  day;  the  creche  for  the  children, 
the  rooms  set  aside  for  the  mothers  to  nurse 
their  babies,  the  infinite  care  of  the  French 
Government!  The  women  receive  an  alloca- 
tion of  one  franc  a  day  for  a  month  before  the 
birth  of  a  child,  and  for  six  weeks  after,  one 
franc,  fifty  centimes,  and  this  helps  so  much, 
for  the  women  have  a  chance  to  rest. 


And  the  Red  Cross  163 

I  feel  to-night  that  the  children  of  the  eight 
hundred  thousand  women  in  munition  factories 
in  France  have  a  very  special  claim  on  us. 

The  Y.  W.  C.  A.  have  their  splendid  club- 
house for  the  women  workers  here,  and  it  was 
an  amazing  experience  to  face  that  crowded 
hall  during  the  noon  hour  to-day,  and  hear 
those  women  sing  their  beloved  songs!  So 
many  of  them  looked  so  young,  most  of  them 
looked  strong,  and  they  all  looked  happy  and 
cheerful.  That  is  what  has  stirred  me  so.  I 
expected  depressing  sadness;  I  found  a  splen- 
did, glowing  spirit  of  service. 

The  Red  Cross  work  in  this  city  includes 
visiting  nursing  care  for  children  of  those 
women,  and  help  in  the  crowded  clinics  of  the 
city,  besides  the  hospitals  for  our  Evian  chil- 
dren. 

In  one  of  the  sheds  where  twenty  five  thou- 
sand shells  a  day  are  turned  out,  I  spoke  to  a 
fine  looking  woman  of  about  forty,  with  oil 
streaked  face.  "I  worked  outside  the  first  two 
years,  but  since  my  two  boys  went  I  came  in 
here,  I  feel  nearer  them  here,"  she  said.  A 
new  point  of  contact  for  shells !  Yes,  I  think 
that  is  the  reason  for  this  spirit.     Those  shells 


164  The  Children  of  France 

are  their  message  to  the  front  line  trenches, 
the  answers  of  the  women  of  France  to  the 
enemy  of  their  country,  the  message  of  faith 
and  confidence  to  their  own  fighting  men.  I 
have  heard  so  much  of  "shell  shock,"  I  can't 
tell  you  what  a  feeling  this  new  sense  of  "shell 
comfort"  gives  me. 


And  the  Red  Cross  165 


Somewhere  in  France, 
March  11,  1918 

I  can't  tell  you  where  this  is  because  it  is 
U.  S.  Army,  but  I  must  tell  you  the  experi- 
ence. We  got  out  at  the  dark  station  at  two 
o'clock  this  morning,  after  a  "sit  up"  sleep 
from  Paris.  It  is  a  wonderful  station,  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  men  on  the  platforms, 
coming  and  going,  for  this  is  the  station  for  the 
Verdun  front,  and  it  always  thrills  me.  The 
biggest  French  Red  Cross  canteen  is  here;  it 
holds  three  or  four  thousand  men.  We  went  in 
for  a  while  and  watched  the  poilus  at  the  long 
tables.  The  happy  cheer  of  it  all  must  help 
them  to  go  on  back  to  the  job  they  have  so 
well  in  hand.  In  the  inky  blackness  we  found 
the  Grand  Hotel  de  la  Cloche,  but  no  room, 
"pas   de  chambre,"  the  night  concierge  in- 


166 The  Children  of  France 

formed  us;  but  he  gave  us  permission  to  try 
the  hard,  narrow  sofas  in  the  salon,  which  we 
did  most  gratefully.  Every  once  in  a  while  as 
the  night  wore  on  I  would  hear  B march- 
ing around  trying  to  keep  his  feet  warm,  he 
said,  and  to  get  the  crick  out  of  his  neck.  The 
sofa  arms,  hard  and  narrow,  were  the  only 
pillows. 

But  it  was  a  "beautiful  mornin'  by  the  grace 
of  God,"  and  we  were  stirring  early,  walking 
out  to  the  central  Camouflage  factory  before 
nine  o'clock.  Our  American  officers  want  the 
American  Red  Cross  to  give  them  a  creche  for 
the  children  and  babies  of  the  seven  or  eight 
hundred  women  who  work  in  the  factory,  and 
we  came  down  to  plan  it  with  them.  I  love 
to  think  that  our  men  thought  of  it,  and  asked 
for  such  a  thing  for  the  little  French  children. 

It  is  a  most  amazing  place.  We  went  to  the 
open  sheds  where  they  color  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  meters  of  burlap.  The 
material  is  unrolled  on  the  ground  and  women 
paint  with  big  brooms ;  the  paint  is  water  color 
and  smells  like  a  cheese  factory.  The  ground, 
the  workers,  the  buildings,  the  very  sky  itself, 
seemed   covered   with   green,   yellow,   brown, 


And  the  Red  Cross  167 

brown,  yellow,  green  mixtures.  It  is  terrible 
stuff  to  work  with,  so  wet,  so  messy,  and  so 
smelly.  Then  the  burlap  is  hung  in  the  sheds 
to  dry.  These  long  sheds  stand  right  in  the 
open  country,  with  great  fields  all  around, 
level,  with  the  spring  green  coming  on.  The 
new  buildings  have  all  been  built  in  the  last 
six  weeks. 

The  women  are  of  all  ages,  many  old,  old 
women  working  in  the  long  sheds,  and  many 
women  of  child-bearing  age.  The  need  for  a 
creche  is  great,  as  many  women  must  continue 
to  nurse  their  babies,  and  there  must  be  some 
place  free  from  paint! 

As  we  stood  in  the  sunshine  in  the  big  wet 
fields,  we  could  see  the  long  shed  covered  with 
green  where  the  paint  is  thrown  on  the  burlap, 
— one  hundred  thousand  quarts  of  paint  in 
eight  hours  is  the  record.  Outside,  the  women 
roll  and  unroll  the  stuff  to  dry  or  to  paint. 
Then  there  is  the  long,  low  barracks  where  the 
women  work  on  the  burlap  after  it  is  dry.  In 
one  it  is  tied  to  the  wire  netting  cut  in  differ- 
ent stated  lengths.  In  another,  bunches  of 
different  colored  raffia  are  tied  together  and 
then  tied  to  the  wire.     In  another,  the  burlap 


168  The  Children  of  France 

is  cut  to  look  like  trees  and  foliage.  One  bar- 
rack is  given  over  to  the  sculptors;  "trench 
heads"  are  made  there,  strong  soldier  heads 
leaning  forward  slightly ;  rows  of  them  deeply 
colored  look  like  real  men. 

The  children  are  very  much  in  the  way  there, 
but  many  women  cannot  work  unless  they 
bring  the  children.  Well,  their  work  is  for 
the  protection  of  our  soldier  boys.  We  must 
help  with  their  children.  So  the  plan  is  com- 
plete, and  will  be  carried  out  toute  suite, 

A  big,  roomy  barrack  in  the  fields  will  be 
fitted  up  for  the  children,  with  a  trained  aide 
in  charge.  Lt.  D.  E.  W.  from  Texas  is  the 
medical  officer  here,  and  he  went  over  the  plans 
with  us  and  will  give  us  his  help  and  interest. 
If  you  could  have  seen  him,  standing  there, 
tall  and  straight  in  the  sunlight,  with  that  look 
in  his  keen  eyes  under  the  wide  brim  of  his  hat, 
like  cattle  ranchers  you  see  in  the  West;  his 
slow  drawl,  his  quiet  manners,  and  his  bigness ! 

The  men  all  love  him,  K said,  and  he  is  a 

fine  doctor.  The  children  love  him,  too.  We 
feel  safe  about  the  creche  under  his  keen  super- 
vision. 

I  love  this  army  of  ours  that  has  come  to 


And  the  Red  Cross  169 

help  and  doesn't  forget  the  children.  The 
Red  Cross  is  eager  to  carry  out  every  wish  of 
our  men  for  anything  they  feel  is  needed  by 
them^  or  by  the  civilians  they  see. 


170  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

March   15,  1918 

A  RATHER  bad  day.  At  one-thirty  a  terri- 
ble explosion.  I  was  alone  in  my  room  and 
the  first  thought  was  a  day  air  raid.  Then  a 
second  explosion  and  crashing  of  glass  in  the 
street.  It  sounded  very  near  and  I  stood 
waiting,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  The  third 
bang  and  more  glass  falling;  then  silence. 
When  I  could  move,  I  went  to  find  out  what 
it  was.     There  was  great  excitement,  a  hand 

grenade  factory  at  had  blown  up  and 

fire  had  started. 

The  Red  Cross  acted  quickly.  We  knew 
it  meant  death  for  many  and  injury  for  thou- 
sands of  women  and  children  cut  by  flying 
glass.  All  the  afternoon  our  nurses  and  doc- 
tors have  worked  near  the  scene  of  the  tragedy, 


And  the  Red  Cross  171 

as  near  as  the  police  could  allow.  Many  build- 
ings are  unsafe  and  hundreds  are  homeless. 
Late  to-night  the  Red  Cross  had  a  two  hun- 
dred bed  hotel  ready  for  the  women  and  chil- 
dren who  could  be  brought  into  the  city.  The 
fire  is  burning  still,  and  smaller  explosions  take 
place  as  the  flames  spread.  We  fear  an  air 
raid  to-night,  as  the  fire  will  light  up  the  coun- 
try for  miles  and  if  this  is  all  treachery  to- 
day, the  enemy  will  not  lose  such  an  oppor- 
tunity unless  the  rain  saves  us.  Those  poor 
children  this  afternoon,  many  of  them  so  badly 
cut  and  bruised,  and  all  so  frightened!  The 
explosion  broke  hundreds  of  windows  in  Paris 
seven  miles  away.  You  can  imagine  what  it 
felt  like  to  be  a  block  from  the  factories.  Our 
chief  nurse  came  in  late  this  evening  looking 
as  though  she  had  been  in  a  coal  mine,  her 
face  black  with  smoke  and  soot,  and  so  full 
of  the  agony  of  it  all.  Of  course  this  is  but 
an  accident  of  war,  but  if  you  could  have  seen 
those  children  out  there  this  afternoon  you 
would  never  forget.  In  a  street  not  far  from 
the  disaster  we  found  an  old  w^oman  sitting  on 
the  curbstone,  bleeding  badly  from  superficial 
cuts   on   face   and  hands,   her   three   grand- 


172  The  Children  of  France 

children  sitting  close  to  her,  all  of  them  with 
glass  wounds,  but  none  of  them  crying.  The 
grandmother  was  dazed  but  calm.  She  said 
both  the  father  and  mother  of  the  children  were 
in  the  factories.  She  had  heard  nothing  from 
them,  but  she  was  hoping  they  were  alive  be- 
cause the  explosion  began  during  the  noon 
hour  and  she  thought  they  might  not  have  been 
in  the  factory.  Our  nurse  wanted  her  to  come 
to  a  safe  place  with  the  children,  but  she  re- 
fused to  leave  the  street  in  front  of  their  tene- 
ment home  in  case  they  came  to  find  her. 
Such  pluck!  The  building  has  been  con- 
demned and  the  people  are  not  allowed  to 
enter,  but  they  cling  to  the  streets.  The 
French  are  so  kind  always  in  their  treatment 
of  their  people.  They  are  rushing  temporary 
shelters  out,  tents,  blankets,  and  mattresses,  so 
the  people  can  stay  near  their  possessions. 


And  the  Red  Cross  173 


Paris^ 

March  16,  1918 

I  SPENT  the  morning  in  our  children's  clinic 
at  Grenelle.  We  did  not  have  a  raid  last 
night,  thanks  to  a  heavy  rain.  But  many  peo- 
ple of  the  poorer  districts  spent  most  of  yester- 
day after  the  explosion  in  the  "Caves,"  not 
knowing  what  it  was,  and  when  they  did  know, 
fearing  further  trouble.  So  the  clinic  was 
crowded  this  morning  with  women  and  their 
tired,  sick  children. 

One  starved  looking  mother  with  a  tiny  baby 
had  spent  the  time  in  a  very  damp  cellar  and 
both  of  them  had  terrible  colds.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  picture  of  the  care  they  received. 
Our  nurse  was  so  fine,  so  sympathetic,  and  as 
she  worked,  the  mother  told  her  many  things. 
The  baby  was  her  only  one  and  her  man  was  in 


174  The  Children  of  France 

the  trenches.  His  permission  was  due  very 
soon  and  nothing  must  happen  to  his  baby. 
You  feel  so  sorry  for  these  poor  people  dur- 
ing these  air  raids.  The  air  is  full  of  rumors 
about  that  "offensive"  promised  by  the  Ger- 
mans, and  all  the  women  in  that  clinic  this 
morning  were  busy  discussing  its  probability. 
They  said :  "If  it  begins,  there  will  be  no  more 
permissions  for  a  time."  And  these  women, 
hard  at  work  here,  with  the  children  to  care 
for,  live  for  their  men  to  come  home.  One 
woman  in  very  shabby  black,  lost  her  man  last 
week  and  she  looked  as  though  she  would  never 
smile  again,  and  yet  no  bitterness !  Her  little 
boy  of  six  has  a  bad  bronchitis,  but  he  is  a 
sturdy  little  chap  and  she  told  me,  without  a 
quiver,  that  she  wished  he  were  big  enough  to 
take  his  father's  place  at  Verdun.  "We  must 
finish,"  she  said — "finish!" 

At  that  clinic  we  have  a  small  day  nursery 
or  creche  for  the  children  whose  mothers  are 
working,  and  a  regular  kindergartner  (I  hope 
some  one  will  think  up  a  non-German  word 
for  that)  teaches  the  children  and  they  have 
the  best  of  times.  We  are  proud  of  the 
Grenelle   center;   it   is   a   real   neighborhood 


1   CCHA^::. 

AVIS 

|^«ii»-  .^  "^^^H 

^^^^^^v^^^^V^ 

^^^^^^^^^^^1 

- 

THE    GREAT    RESPONSIBILITY.       GRANDFATHER    AND    GRANDMOTHER    WITH 

SMALL    BOY    OF    FOUR    WHOSE     MOTHER    HAS    BEEN     HELD    BY    THE 

GERMANS 


And  the  Red  Cross  175 

house,  small,  with  a  staff  of  four,  doctor,  nurse, 
aide  and  French  teacher,  to  meet  the  needs  of 
their  neighbors.  The  French  are  good  neigh- 
bors. I  asked  a  tired  poilu  at  the  Gare  du 
Nord  last  night,  why  he  kept  on  fighting. 
Four  years,  he  told  me,  he  has  been  in  the  war, 
and  he  was  very  tired,  but  his  answer  to  my 
question  was  a  wonderful  one:  "We've  got  to 
show  those  Germans  how  to  be  neighbors; 
they  don't  know  how  to  live  next  to  other 
people." 


176  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

March  28,  1918 

At  eight  o'clock  this  morning  began  the 
bombardment  of  Paris  I  It  seems  unbeliev- 
able, and  no  one  knew  it  as  a  fact  until  about 
three  this  afternoon.  Then  the  rumor  was 
confirmed.  It  had  been  very  strange  all  day; 
the  explosions  seemed  to  come  about  every 
twenty  minutes.  In  Place ,  sixteen  peo- 
ple were  reported  killed  and  injured  at  noon 
time.  At  one  o'clock  a  terrific  bang  seemed 
to  have  struck  very  near,  '*in  the  Tuileries," 
our  small  office  page  reported.  Every  one 
looked  up  into  the  blue  sky  for  the  answer  to 
the  puzzle.  After  the  miserable  raid  last  night 
our  minds  thought  only  of  "Avions."  But  at 
three  o'clock  the  word  from  the  war  office 
came, — a  long  distance  gwn!    Well,  if  guns 


And  the  Red  Cross  177 

can  fire  seventy-five  miles,  I  imagine  we  are 
in  for  a  warm  time  of  it.  The  children  of  this 
city !  What  can  we  do  to  help,  where  can  they 
go  to  play,  or  to  work,  or  to  do  anything  else 
— if  a  shell  is  going  to  drop  every  twenty  min- 
utes? The  news  from  the  front  is  bad  to- 
night; the  offensive  is  on  hot  and  heavy,  and 
it  is  a  breathless  moment  here.  Late  this 
afternoon  after  an  hour  of  quiet,  I  walked  out 

to  Dr.  B 's  hospital,  A.R.C.  No.  1.    The 

beautiful  Champs  Elysees,  always  crowded 
with  the  French  children  laughing  and  play- 
ing, rolling  hoops  and  riding  the  ponies,  was 
all  silent,  empty;  just  busy,  preoccupied  grown 
ups  went  hurriedly  on  their  way.  It  is  only 
eight  o'clock,  but  it  is  a  clear  night.  A  raid 
is  inevitable.  I  think  I'll  have  a  nap  before 
undressing. 


178  The  Children  of  France 


PariSj 

Palm  Stmday,  1918 

From  nine  last  evening  until  midnight,  the 
raid  went  on.  We  sat  in  the  dark  on  the 
Entresol,  talking  of  that  western  front;  the 
raids  make  us  seem  nearer  it.  The  Allies  are 
giving  up  ground.  We  had  a  telegram  yes- 
terday announcing  the  giving  up  and  destruc- 
tion of  our  little  ten  bed  hospital  for  children 
at  Nesle.     "All  out  safely,"  but  where?    We 

do  not  know.     They  say  to-night  that  H 

has  been  taken.  It  does  not  seem  possible. 
The  guns  began  at  seven  this  morning.  We 
all  needed  an  alarm  clock  after  the  night. 
Breakfast  was  served  very  daintily  in  the  cel- 
lar of  this  hotel  for  the  dining  room  here  is  a 
glass  covered  courtroom,  and  no  one  wants  to 
sit   under   glass.     The    shells   have    dropped 


And  the  Red  Cross  179 

every  twelve  minutes  to-day.  The  morale  of 
the  people  is  wonderful.  Children  must  be 
looked  out  for,  yes,  but  the  rest  of  the  French 
shrug  their  shoulders.  They  are  perfectly 
calm  and  confident  I     There  must  be  two  guns ! 


180  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

March  28,  1918 

A  BLACK  day — ^perhaps  the  blackest  in  our 
history.  The  whole  world  waits;  rumors  ebb 
and  flow.  The  retreat  goes  on,  the  gun  goes 
on,  the  raids  go  on,  but  the  A.  R.  C.  has  just 
one  thought — ^to  do  everything  in  its  power  to 
meet  the  emergency.  Our  Children's  Bureau 
is  deep  in  the  work  for  the  refugee  women  and 
children  pouring  into  the  city  from  the  north. 
The  stations  receiving  them  are  now  manned 
with  doctors,  nurses  and  aides,  to  help  the 
French  handle  this  terrible  situation.  The 
canteens  go  all  night;  the  trains  are  bringing 
thousands  of  the  old  and  sick  men  and  women, 
women  with  their  children,  from  the  region  we 
thought  safe.  They  are  weary  and  hungry 
but  not  in  a  panic.     It  is  marvelous.     Last 


And  the  Red  Cross  181 

night  in  the  station  I  saw  a  tired  woman  feed- 
ing a  five  months'  old  baby  sweet  chocolate. 
The  baby  was  happy  but  the  mother  knew 
that  was  wrong.  We  found  that  in  the  flight, 
and  terror  of  those  days,  her  milk  had  stopped. 
In  a  few  minutes  our  doctor  discovered  four- 
teen other  mothers  in  the  same  condition.  Our 
nurses  prepared  milk  formulas  for  the  babies 
all  night  and  all  day,  as  the  morning  trains 
brought  more.  The  people  are  being  carried 
through  to  towns  and  cities  farther  south  now. 
Paris  is  no  place  to  keep  them.  The  raids 
make  the  station  work  so  difficult,  as  we  have 
to  get  them  down  under  ground.  The  chil- 
dren are  tired  and  dirty,  and  sick  some  of 
them,  but  they  do  not  seem  frightened.  The 
Red  Cross  is  cooperating  with  French  nurses 
and  Government  in  removing  as  many  children 
as  possible  from  Paris.  Workers  from  the 
war  zone  pour  in,  but  the  French  are  confident. 


182  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

Good  Friday,  1918 

A  BUSY  day,  not  a  moment  for  anything  but 
emergencies.  The  retreat  goes  on.  The  wo- 
men and  children  pour  into  the  stations  from 
the  north.  Two  little  frail  children  died  at 
the  Gare  du  Nord  this  afternoon.  It  was 
awful,  but  the  mothers  were  wonderful.  One 
woman  said  this  was  the  third  time  she  had 
lost  everything  in  flight,  but  still  she  smiled 
bravely  through  her  tears.  The  French  and 
American  Red  Cross  are  working  hand  in 
hand  these  days.  The  rush  at  the  canteens 
and  rest  rooms  at  the  stations  has  made  heavy 
work  and  we  are  eager  not  to  have  the  soldier 
canteens  suffer,  as  the  stations  are  crowded 
with  troops  on  their  way  to  the  front.  The 
gun  began  just  at  three  this  afternoon  and  the 


And  the  Red  Cross  183 

rumors  are  bad.  The  first  shell  struck  a 
church  and  the  evening  papers  say  over  ninety 
people  were  killed,  mostly  women  and  chil- 
dren.    I  have  no  direct  word  as  yet. 


184  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 

Easter  Sunday,  1918 

The  gun  was  quiet  this  morning,  and  the 
news  from  the  front  is  good.  The  Allies  are 
holding.  Bishop  McCormick  of  Western 
Michigan  preached  a  sermon  that  would  make 
him  famous  if  he  were  not  already  so.  His 
text  was,  "As  cold  water  to  thirsty  lips,  so  is 
good  news  from  a  far  country.'*  It  was  all 
sort  of  choking  and  tremendous  but  it  sent  us 
back  to  the  railroad  stations  with  fresh  courage. 
Refugees,  women  and  children,  continue  to 
pour  into  Paris  and  all  organizations,  both 
French  and  American,  are  uniting  in  the  effort 
to  move  them  on  to  peace  and  safety  south  of 
Paris. 

One  little  disheveled  woman  at  the  Garc  du 
Nord,  with  three  sturdy  boys  clinging  to  her. 


And  the  Red  Cross  185 

told  me  how  an  American  soldier  helped  her 
to  get  out  of  Amiens  in  his  camion,  where  the 
bombardment  was  "terrifique."  I  suppose  it 
was  one  of  our  Ambulance  men,  but  her  grati- 
tude was  as  great  as  though  the  entire  Ameri- 
can Army  had  escorted  her  to  Paris.  Oh,  for 
ten  million  men! — But  the  Allies  are  holding! 
I  think  we  can  stand  the  air  raid  to-night  with 
actual  delight.  Three  shells  from  "Bertha 
Krupp"  late  this  afternon,  but  Paris  seemed 
to  be  smiling.  The  boulevards  were  crowded. 
The  fact  that  it  was  Easter  overshadowed  even 
the  long  distance  guns.     A  wonderful  people  I 


186  The  Children  of  France 


Paris, 
April  6,  1918 

A  WEEK  of  shells,  air  raids,  night  hours  in 
the  cellar,  work  in  the  day  time,  but  no  one 
minds.     The  Allies  are  still  holding. 

A  wonderful  new  work  has  been  developing 
in  the  Children's  Bureau  this  week.  Long  be- 
fore Christmas  you  remember  our  soldier  boys 
began  doing  many  things  for  the  children  they 
came  into  touch  with  in  the  villages.  In 
every  little  French  town  where  our  boys  are 
quartered,  the  village  children  had  a  Christmas 
party  with  the  American  soldiers.  Constantly 
we  have  received  money  from  our  soldiers  "for 
the  kids."  The  "Stars  and  Stripes"  (the 
newspaper  for  the  U.  S.  troops)  decided  that 
it  might  be  a  good  plan  to  organize  that  feeling 
and  give  the  boys  a  wider  field  in  which  tjD  ex- 


Arid  the  Bed  Cross  187 

press  their  friendliness  for  the  little  children 
they  see.  The  newspaper  asked  us  if  we 
would  take  the  trouble  and  the  responsibility 
of  providing  French  children  for  our  American 
companies  to  "father"  and  "brother."  You 
can  imagine  our  delight.  We  said  that  the 
American  Red  Cross  could  supply  any  kind 
of  French  children,  with  hair  of  any  color,  or 
eyes  of  any  color,  for  our  boys  to  be  interested 
in.  The  plan  suggested  by  the  paper  on  Palm 
Sunday  was  that  five  hundred  francs  or  one 
hundred  dollars  be  the  simi  given  by  the  men 
for  a  year's  contribution  to  the  care,  education, 
or  useful  training  of  any  kind,  for  a  French 
child;  the  application  of  the  money  to  be  left 
to  the  discretion  of  the  Children's  Bureau  of 
the  A.  R.  C. 

The  response  from  our  men  was  immediate. 
In  ten  days  twenty  children  have  been 
"adopted"  by  our  soldiers.  They  have  sent 
their  money,  and  the  "dimensions"  they 
wanted,  and  we  have  supplied  the  child,  that 
is,  we  apply  the  money  and  we  furnish  the 
company  with  the  photograph  of  their  child, 
his  history  and  how  they  can  keep  in  touch 
with  him. 


188  The  Children  of  France 

Several  days  ago  we  had  a  letter  from  Com- 
pany G,  —  Regiment  of  U.  S.  They  wrote 
as  follows: 

^'Company  G  met  Easter  morning. 
We  want  to  adopt  a  Utile  hoy  of  six  with 
blue  eyes,  the  son  of  a  man  who  fell  at 
Verdtm/' 

They  are  not  difficult  to  find — little  sons  of 
men  who  fell  at  Verdun!  We  found  Henri, 
a  darling  laddie  with  blue  eyes.  We  had 
him  photographed  at  once  and  his  picture  and 

his  history  sent  to  the  company.    Miss  P , 

in  writing  of  Henri,  said  that  he  had  two 
brothers  and  two  sisters.  To-day  we  received 
the  answer: 

^'Company  G  takes  the  whole  bunch.** 

I  love  it.  I  think  one  of  tiie  most  beautiful 
things  in  France  to-day  is  the  feeling  our  men 
have  for  the  devastated  lives  of  the  little  chil- 
dren. I  don't  suppose  many  of  the  men  could 
say  anything  about  it  but  this  is  what  they 
are  doing,  in  their  simple,  direct  way.     Some 


WAITING   FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  COME   FOR   HER.      LUCILE,   A   LITTLE   RAPATRIE 
AT    THE     HOSPITAL     AT     EVIAN 


And  the  Red  Cross  189 

of  the  letters  are  so  funny.  One  company 
wrote:  "You  pick  out  the  kid,  but  please  have 
it  old  enough  to  eat  anything  the  fellows  want 
to  send  it."  I  suppose  they  feared  a  "bottle" 
baby. 

But  it  is  all  so  big  and  fine,  and  coming  at 
this  time  when  we  are  all  breathless  with 
anxiety,  it  is  like  "the  wind  on  the  heath." 


190  The  Children  of  France 


Port  in  France, 
April  27,  1918 

We  have  been  here  for  two  days.  We  sail 
some  time  to-night.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  we  are  going  home  for  a  few  weeks,  after 
the  ten  busy  months  here.  I  have  been  sitting 
out  on  deck  in  the  dark  sort  of  listening  to 
my  own  thoughts,  and  I  find  that  the  A.  R.  C. 
seems  to  be  just  two  factors  to  me:  our  soldier 
boys  and  the  little  children.  When  we  left 
Paris  on  Friday,  eighty  children  had  been 
adopted  by  eighty  American  companies,  and 
the  letters  continue  to  make  one  laugh  and 
cry.  To-night  I  stood  and  watched  from  our 
deck  the  unloading  of  a  big  ship  next  to  us  at 
the  wharf.  The  country  was  all  dark;  the 
wharf  was  lighted  by  torches  that  moved  about, 
here  and  there;  now  deep  black  shadows,  now 


And  the  Red  Cross  191 

whole  vivid  scenes  flashed  out  for  seconds  at  a 
time. 

Once,  the  flash  showed  a  line  of  poilus  drawn 
up  close  to  the  wharf  to  welcome  the  troops 
from  home;  then  the  light  revealed  a  group 
of  excited  little  children  close  to  the  ship's 
gangway;  and  down  that  gangway  moved  a 
constant  stream  of  soldiers.  Their  broad  brim 
hats,  (the  American  hat,)  made  the  familiar 
silhouette  against  the  dark  sky  when  a  torch 
cast  the  light  just  there,  and  as  each  company 
reached  the  soil  of  France,  they  gave  a  cheer, 
a  real  American  cheer,  that  thrilled  us  to  the 
core.  Then  childish  voices  called  "Vive  la 
France!  Vive  TAmerique!"  and  again  our 
boys'  ringing  cheer,  and  presently  a  com- 
pany's band  began  "Over  There,"  only  to  be 
drowned  out  by  a  united  roar  from  all  the 
men  on  the  wharf.  "Sheer  animal  spirits," 
said  some  one  near  me,  and  I  think  my  whole 
ten  months  in  France  rose  up  within  me  and 
said.  No !  Those  cheers  were  hoarse  with  feel- 
ing. I  knew  those  men  were  choked  by  a 
spiritual  exaltation  that  will  grow  and  grow 
as  we  have  seen  it  grow  in  other  men  from 
home    during   these    months    here.     Sending 


192 The  Children  of  France 

their  money  into  our  Bureau  for  the  children! 
What  is  that  but  their  way,  their  simple  prac- 
tical way,  of  recognizing  the  spiritual  signifi- 
cance of  their  fight  for  the  future,  for  the 
safety  of  the  world,  for  the  little  children? 

An  American  newspaper  woman  was  dis- 
cussing some  of  the  finer  issues  of  our  struggle 
with  a  British  Army  officer  at  the  front.  She 
spoke  rather  depressingly  about  the  material- 
istic trend  of  the  world,  the  apparent  failure 
of  things  spiritual,  the  rather  Godless  state  of 
the  universe.  The  officer  listened  quietly  for 
a  time  and  then,  looking  her  straight  in  the 
eyes,  answered:  "Stay  in  the  front  line  trenches 
awhile.  We  believe  in  God  like  Hell  up  here !" 
And  our  boys,  many  of  them  before  they  have 
reached  the  front  line  trenches,  have  shown 
their  'Jaithr 

Last  week  at  the  Beauvais  Canteen^  just 
back  of  that  awful  retreat,  a  wounded  Ameri- 
can soldier  came  in  with  head  bandaged,  blood 
and  mud  staining  his  cheeks.  It  was  natural 
that  the  Red  Cross  worker  should  turn  eagerly 
to  him  to  find  out  what  he  wanted.  But  in 
front  of  that  rough  counter  stood  a  row  of  little 
refugee    children    waiting    for    milk.     The 


And  the  Red  Cross  193 

American  lad  waved  the  worker  aside,  with: 
**I  can  wait.     Kids  first,  please." 

And  France  has  heard  that  note  and  will 
never  forget  that  the  American  Soldiers  and 
the  American  Red  Cross  came  to  her  help  with 
those  rough  boyish  words  in  their  hearts,  "Kids 
first,  please." 


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